


Whatever It Takes

by girlskylark, TheSpace_Dragon



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Burlesque Club, Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Bottom Lance (Voltron), Burlesque, Chicago (City), Crush at First Sight, Domestic Fluff, Drunken Flirting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Jealous Keith (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Lance (Voltron) is a Dork, Love Confessions, M/M, Messy Breakup, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, POV Lance (Voltron), Past Relationship(s), Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Pining Shiro (Voltron), Polyamorous Character, Polyamorous Lance, Post-Break Up, Sexy Times, Shiro has morals but Keith and Lance very persuasive, Singing Lance (Voltron), Strippers & Strip Clubs, Swearing, Threesome - M/M/M, Veteran Shiro
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-01-17 11:56:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 126,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12365247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlskylark/pseuds/girlskylark, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpace_Dragon/pseuds/TheSpace_Dragon
Summary: Lance just moved into his first apartment and is in desperate need of a job, an actualIife, and everything that has to do with Takashi Shirogane. Now completely smitten with Shiro, Lance discovers that his newest crush works at a burlesque club in downtown Chicago, and falls completely in love with the life of the dancers on stage. Lance will settle for nothing less than to be on that stage with the beautiful, black-haired beauty named Keith.Keith, a former stripper and now a burlesque dancer, fell in love and has yet to recover from it. His relationship with Shiro was cut short after an incident at Keith's previous workplace, which led him to seek a job out at Downtown Daibazaal. Shiro's strict rules on not dating coworkers makes working with Shiro difficult, if not intolerable. With no other place to go to, Keith is forced to work through his feelings, or risk leaving the club for another unsafe work environment. Itdefinitelydoesn't help this new dancer manages to sweep Shiro off his feet without even trying.While Lance swoons over Keith's incredible dance routines, Keith can't help but loathe every part of Lance for winning Shiro over.





	1. { just a city boy }

**Author's Note:**

> Mogi: tbh i dont even know what to say here. i honestly spent the last few days just being dragged around by sarah as she wrote this thing while me, and i quote, "added the saucy phrases" to this memery. i love it though, and yall are in for a fun ride xD
> 
> Sarah: ^^ What she said.

Lance couldn’t deny that he was, in fact, a lightweight. Nights like these tended to highlight his not-so-perfect qualities, which included (but was not limited by) his inability to say the word “no.”

It started out as a sad night, which turned into a “fun” night, which ultimately spiraled back to a sad very-early-morning. Two in the morning was not an ideal time to leave the club, especially if he didn’t want the company that came with it. One of the guys he’d been hopelessly flirting with followed him out after a trip to the restroom. Lance’s breath still tasted like Altoid-covered, post-alcohol-regurgitation.

Lance was barely a concrete block away from the entrance when someone’s arm fell over his shoulder and nearly face-planted him into the sidewalk. “Thought you could ditch me, huh? Where you headed next?” the guy asked, breathing the words into Lance’s hair.

He suppressed a shudder as best he could, but it just caused his feet to stagger when the heel of his boot caught in a sidewalk crack.

“I’m just… waitin’ for my friend to pick me up,” he lied, checking the ridiculous time on his phone. It was treading dangerously close to three in the morning now.

“Mind if I wait with you?” the guy asked. “It gets stuffy in there and I’d much prefer hanging out here with you. What’s your name again?”

“Lance,” he all but squeaked. “And really, aren’t your friends worried about where you are?”

“I’m out alone tonight. Could use the company though.” Lance squirmed and tried to duck out from under the guy’s arm, but he only squeezed tighter around Lance’s neck.

Lance leaned away as far as he could. The man’s breath made him want to pray to the porcelain throne again. “Uh…I’m--”

“His ride is here.”

The voice came from behind them. Lance glanced over his shoulder, and the breath he took in was enough to warrant a sigh of relief. One look and Lance’s semi-intoxicated brain was panting, “I’ll take that ride.”

Lance’s eyes dragged down to where Shiro’s shoes shined in the streetlights, and caught the glare of the neon bar lights. His tight-fitted black jeans left… _little_ to the imagination (not that Lance was complaining). His legs led _all_ the way up to a narrow waist and an amazingly broad chest (Lance was going to climb this man like tree if someone didn’t stop him ASAP).

Those shoulders (hot damn), those lips (perfection), that perfect white quiff (drool-worthy), which led up to short black hair that Lance wanted to card his fingers through, and see mused up in the morning after one _beautiful_ night to heaven.

“Oh,” the stranger said, lowering his arm as Lance blurted, “Yeah! Yes, my ride. There he is. The best ride, my ride, yes.”

He sauntered up to his savior before turning on his heels, pointedly pegging the creep with raised eyebrows that said, “What are you still doing here? Get lost.”

The stranger combed his eyes over the two of them, suddenly disinterested in this entire ordeal. It was surprising how quickly the guy went from incessant annoyance to walking away down the street, never to be seen again. Lance tucked his hands into his coat pockets, pursing his lips and trying to keep his triumph out of his voice when he whispered, “Thanks for that.”

“Not a problem,” the man said, grinning down at Lance before giving him a pat on the shoulder. “Shiro.”

“Lance, pleased to make your acquaintance.”

When they shook hands, Lance realized—belatedly—that his acquaintance had one deflated coat sleeve. He pulled his eyes away in favor of beaming up at Shiro, hoping he didn’t seem _too_ drunk. His charm must have worked, though.

“Do you… need me to walk you somewhere? To your car, or something?” Shiro asked, gesturing ahead down the sidewalk.

“Oh! Um, my apartment is just a few blocks over. I’ll be fine…”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind at all,” he insisted, and Lance pretended to debate it before caving with a giddy, boyish grin on his face.

Shiro walked him around the corner of the street, pulling out a set of keys to a black BMW parked on the side of the road. “Oooh, fancy,” Lance purred, sauntering up to the passenger side and turning to see the amused expression on Shiro’s face. “What? I’ve never owned a car before.”

“Really?”

Lance shook his head, dragging a cold finger across the window until Shiro unlocked the door for him. “Never really had a reason to. My… family lives in the city.”

“Ah,” Shiro said. “Is that where we’re headed?”

Lance collapsed into his seat a second before Shiro with a delighted sigh. “Nope. Just my apartment. My lonely, _lonely_ lonesome apartment… All by myself…”

Shiro scoffed, turning on the car, the engine thrumming to life and soft music coming from the radio as he said, “Well… you’ve been out late enough tonight. It’s three AM and I should probably get you back soon.”

“You take all the time you want,” Lance cooed, alcohol still slurring his words slightly. Somehow he managed to buckle himself and not look like an absolute fool.

“Alright then,” Shiro chuckled, shifting the car into park and pulling out of his spot. The engine hummed smoothly and Lance shivered in his seat. _This was nothing like riding a bus,_ he thought absently, brushing his hands over his lap with a flare of finality.

He cleared his throat and leaned over the middle console and batted his eyelashes at Shiro. “So what’s a good standing citizen like you doing out at three AM, still sober as can be? It’s Friday night! You and I could be out partying!” Nevermind the fact that Lance was only in this gorgeous man’s car because he was too drunk and too nice to say no to an overly forward late night gremlin. (Drunk short-term memory loss, he would die of embarrassment later.)

“Just heading home from work,” Shiro said simply, focusing on the road as he drove. “Which complex do you live in?”

“Uh…” Drunken memory problems struck again. “There’s more than one?”

Shiro laughed and slowed to a stop at an intersection, glancing at him from the corner of his eye. “Yes, there are more than one. Don’t you get out? Ya know, meet the neighbors?”

Lance thought about it, rolling his head to one side to stare at the roof of the car, as if it would enlighten him about his daytime activities. “Honestly? Nope. I… just moved in recently. Haven’t had the time to make a batch of cookies and play suburban white mom.”

“New to Chicago then? he asked. Lance gave an uncertain shrug, pursing his lips as he looked out the window. With the streetlights and all, he could see Shiro’s eyes through the window reflection just before the light turned green. His car glided through traffic. Yup, much better than public transit.

“Well, as much as I would love to drive you around all night,” he continued, “I’d really appreciate knowing where I can drop you off.”

Lance waved his hand. “Whichever is cheapest,” he grumbled.

“To Arusian Heights it is then.”

Lance loathed to see the exterior of his apartment complex. It wasn’t that he _hated_ it—it just gave him a lonely, late-to-maturity feel when he remembered how his younger brother was out of the house before _he_ was. Sure, dorm life wasn’t exactly the same as a twenty-two year old living in his first apartment, but… Lance always saw it as a competition and his brother was winning. Julian’s first reaction to the place was a disappointed, “I thought it was gonna look nicer than this.”

“I’m still working on decorating the place,” Lance confessed to Shiro, as if Julian could even hear him now. “It looks really shitty inside.”

“Move-in boxes always make a place look shitty,” he said, and Lance was so surprised by it that he burst into giggles. “What?”

“I dunno—that was just really sweet of you. I think it _is_ the move-in boxes.” He looked over to Shiro as he leaned back in the passenger’s seat to sigh dreamily. “Would you… want to decide on that for me?”

It was a leap, and Lance knew it was when Shiro donned that uncertain, pitying look. “Oh God—sorry, that was- that was too forward. I’m sorry, and—it was so nice of you to drive me here so I’ll just- I’ll go.”

Lance thrust his door open and was out on the sidewalk, blushing madly and cursing himself for suggesting _Shiro come up to his apartment with him—_

The driver’s door shut closed.

Lance turned to see Shiro walking up to the stoop, meeting Lance in the light of the street lamp. Their shadows crossed over one another as Shiro suddenly looked embarrassed, turning away to clear his throat and say, “Do you, um, have your keys?”

Lance wondered just how wide his eyes were. “Y- Yeah! Yeah, hang on.”

He all but sprinted to the steps leading beneath the apartment stoop. He unlocked the gate with the usual brass key. He held the gate door open for Shiro, bowing with a flourish. “After you, my good sir,” he said, and Shiro scoffed with a roll of his eyes.

At Lance’s apartment door, he held the key fob over the lock. It didn’t register the first, second, or third time until Lance cursed and said, “I swear I’m not drunk. They, um, they changed all the locks to these shitty things just before I showed up I guess.”

“Here—” Shiro started, plucking the key out of his hand. He rested the fob beside the sensor, and then coasted it over. The door unlocked. “I have one of these things at my place.”

“And where is that?” Lance asked, holding the door open for the both of them.

Shiro barely started to respond when he halted in the threshold. Lance started down the stairs, avoiding the perilous lack of a railing on one side. The street window was on their left, casting a faint orange light into the room where the streetlamps filtered through the foggy glass. “The… light switch is on your left there—yeah,” Lance said, slowly lowering himself to the ground floor, but that was about as far as he could get before being stopped by the sheer amount of _boxes_.

Lance watched as his guest surveyed the apartment, the bare brick walls (disguised in gross white paint—Lance loathed the fiends who thought _that_ was a good idea), the futon still in its box, the counters full of boxes of food and dishes Lance had yet to put away. Shiro left his safe spot on the stairs cautiously, more than just a little impressed by how awful it looked.

“This place doesn’t even look _lived in_ ,” he said, closing the door behind them. “This is unacceptable—we have to get this place up to standard.”

“Yeah? And what standard is that,” Lance laughed. He hadn’t realized it at the time, but Shiro was completely serious.

The clock ticked to 3:30AM when the two of them started tearing into the boxes on the counters. Shiro flung open all of the bare cabinets as Lance picked up a note from his mom’s neighbor that read “ _I’m excited to see your new place! Here are some things to get you started._ ” He unboxed ceramic bowls and an assortment of floral-printed plates that Shiro hoisted up onto the shelves after having shed his jacket. Lance didn’t even try to hide the way he tipped his head to the side to get a better look at that man’s flawless back muscles.

“Eyes up here,” Shiro said, laughing as Lance blushed and hurriedly handed him mug after mug to put on one of the higher shelves.

Lance went in search of his speakers, which he hefted up onto the top of the cabinets where the music could echo and reach all parts of the flat. Lance dropped down from the countertop and into Shiro’s arm with a twirling flourish. They twisted around the kitchen, back to their work station of half-opened boxes and scissors.

At 4:30 AM, they finally moved on from the kitchen and into the bathroom. Get the important spaces done first Shiro had preached, leading Lance through his own apartment like _he_ was the one that owned the place. Lance was honestly happy to just tag along. Shiro was a force of nature and god above, Shiro had the best backside Lance had ever seen. He couldn’t have dreamt this shit up, and Shiro was real? What was this insanity?

“Earth to space cadet Lance, Earth to space cadet Lance.”

Lance snapped out of his ogling and his eyes jumped from Shiro’s ass (Lance really needed to mind more adjectives, he was fresh out of ‘em), a blush spreading across his cheeks for the umpteenth time that night.

“Not my fault you’re so distracting,” he said, and Shiro slapped him on the arm for it.

He finished dragging in the bag full of his bathroom shit. Towels, under the sink; caddy, in the shower; face wash items, in the medicine cabinet. They filled the bathroom with all of Lance’s essentials before moving to the living room where they dreaded the sight of Lance’s unopened futon.

“Well, it’s not going to open itself,” Shiro sighed. “Do you have a knife or scissors?”

“Oh, uh, lemme just--” Lance rushed into the kitchen, rifling through all of the drawers until he found his scissors and bounded back into the living room. “Right here!”

Shiro plucked them out of his hand, giving him that knee-weakening smile and attacked the futon. In no time, it was out and they were arguing over the directions and trying to put the damn thing together. Honestly, Lance just wanted the thing to no entrap him like a venus fly-trap when he sat on it. Thankfully, though, one of them had the patience of a saint, and it wasn’t Lance.

Shiro instructed Lance through the assembly of the godforsaken, infernal object. It nearly too infuriating to finish, but when Shiro slapped on the cushion and called it done, Lance couldn’t help but collapse on it with an exhausted, “Thank _God!_ I’m beat.”

“We aren’t done though,” Shiro laughed, tugging him by the arm. “Come on—Don’t think I didn’t see the coffee maker over there.”

“We aren’t seriously doing this all _now,_ are we?” Lance moaned dramatically, twisting around to see the way one of Shiro’s flawless eyebrows lifted.

“I mean… we don’t have to? This is your place, not mine,” he said, backing off from the subject and sending Lance to his feet.

He lunged across the apartment, shrieking, “Are you kidding?! It would’ve taken me _weeks_ to get this much done! We can’t stop now!”

“But you were just—”

“It’s called ‘ _theatrics_ ’, don’t you know that?” Lance laughed, hoisting up the coffee maker and sliding it onto the counter as Shiro muttered, “A little _too_ well.”

Shiro scooped coffee grounds out of the bag Lance held out to him. They dumped it into the filter, followed by the water, the switch being flipped, and the first mug left underneath to collect the coffee. Combined, they finished off four mugs before getting back to work, but before work could be done, they sat at the stools on the counter and stared at one another, trying to think of the best possible questions to ask a stranger.

Lance propped his head atop his hand and hummed deeply. It turned into a sigh that turned into pursed lips and narrowed eyes. “Yooou… work as a bodyguard.”

Shiro gave him a dull look. “I’m fairly positive I need two arms for that.”

“No you don’t.”

“Be realistic!” Shiro laughed. “Then you… must work at a coffee shop or something. A waiter?”

“Oh, be realistic,” Lance laughed, shaking his head. “I… actually don’t have a job yet. I’m _on the hunt,_ so to speak.”

“Ooohh, job hunting.” Shiro raised his mug in a toast. “To you finding a job in a timely fashion.”

Lance clinked his own mug to Shiro’s and they both took a sip.

“With this economy, I’ll be lucky to even find a job in the area I want,” Lance sighed, pouting as he stared off into nothing.

“What do you want to do?” Shiro took another sip off his coffee, licking his (fucking amazing) lips.

Lance waved a noncommittal hand. “Something with theatre. I was really into it back in high school. I haven’t been able to really find anything since.”

“College?”

“No. Not yet anyways,” he sighed. “I feel like I’m a little too old to start now. All of the freshmen would probably laugh at me.”

“College isn’t the end all be all,” Shiro reasoned. “I know plenty of people who make a living just fine without having gone to college. Plus, college is crazy expensive, so I don’t blame you.”

“You’re one of the very few people to have said that to me. Thank you.”

Shiro smiled at him again, and fuck he was weak. The amount of self-restraint he was showing right now was stellar, go Lance, you’re doing awesome bud.

They talked for a while longer, mostly about the weather and something about basketball (neither of them watched it much, but they had fun making shit up to fill the silence of Lance’s apartment), before they moved onto that last room: his bedroom.

Shiro didn’t seem like a judgemental guy, so Lance guessed he was safe there. But that didn’t stop his anxiety creeping in when they moved to his closet. The old theatre outfits, and some he even attempted to make himself were… well, he didn’t even know how to describe them, but they were never really meant to be seen by anyone else but _him_. Most of them were easily used as Halloween costumes—it was his favorite holiday, and his brother and sister adored the fact that he was even willing to attempt making ridiculous costumes.

“I… haven’t unpacked much,” he confessed, scuffing his socks against the carpet as Shiro tipped back one the plastic container tops.

“I take it that you’re the type of guy who lives out of his laundry basket,” Shiro laughed, and Lance ducked his head guilty—they were both smiling.

“Right, well, let’s do this before we crash from exhaustion and sleep deprivation, shall we?”

Tackling the task head on, they made the best of it. Shiro laughed at Lance’s ridiculous outfits, asking the story behind them all. Lance was happy to share about his family. He loved all his siblings (minus the fact that he lost the maturity race, but he kept that to himself) and somehow between talking about every single whacky costume he had and unpacking his normal clothes, his closet was full.

The first thing Lance did upon unpacking all of his clothes was claim his underwear container—that was the _last_ thing Shiro needed to witness. As Lance hurriedly stuffed them into the drawers his shoes sat on, he reconsidered that thought. He wondered if they would ever be on that level, but it was difficult for him to see his life completely without Shiro when they spent the early hours of the morning together. Albeit, cleaning up his apartment, but they spent the morning together either way.

For the most part, it was Lance’s task to hang up the clothes while Shiro sorted through them on the floor. He laid them out based on color, and handed them up to Lance as tore into another pack of clothes hangers.

“You must be so annoyed by how many clothes I have,” Lance commented, lifting up a netted crop top with a high collar. “And my taste in style,” he added belatedly, stuffing the shirt among all the other dark clothes.

“I’ve seen weirder styles—trust me.”

“As if! You’re holding a shirt that says ‘ _#BOOTY_ ’!” Lance laughed, and snorted so hard that his nose hurt. Shiro howled with laughter on the floor, tipping over onto his back with the shirt strewn over his chest. Lance gasped for air, saying, “S-Stop! Oh my God, _Shiro—_ ”

“Why do you even _own_ this?” Shiro asked, sitting up, cheeks flushed from laughing so hard.

Lance held a hand to his chest as he picked up the shirt and shook his head, completely at a loss. “I don’t even remember _buying_ it. Maybe it’s a hand-me-down?”

“From _who?_ Your _mom_?” he remarked.

“Oh no—No way. She does _not_ know this exists, and never tell her, either,” Lance said sharply, but his seriousness faded when he looked at the shirt again. “Okay, you know what?” he said, and raised his eyebrows at Shiro as he started to pull his arms through the sleeves of his shirt.

“No don’t—” Shiro started, but it was too late. Lance was pulling the ridiculous t-shirt over his head. Shiro clasped his hand over his face, but Lance could still see his smile. “I’m _so glad_ I saved you outside of that bar tonight.”

“Thank you,” Lance gasped dramatically, laying a hand on his heart. “That means so much to me.”

“I’m serious—I mean, this wasn’t the first time and it won’t be the last, but… I’ve had a lot of fun tonight. Going through all of your…”

“My shit?”

“Yeah, digging through all of your shit and finding gems like t-shirts that say ‘ _#Booty_ ’,” Shiro said. “You are… You’re a treasure, Lance. Thanks for making coffee for me and stuff.”

“What, is this you saying goodbye already?” Lance said, not realizing how disappointed that made him until he said it aloud. But… Shiro would have to leave eventually, and it was already seven in the morning. Even with all the buildings blocking their view, Lance could tell that the sky was getting brighter. A light blue was starting to swell across the bedroom from where they were hidden away in Lance’s closet.

Shiro took out the last of Lance’s winter sweaters and together they pushed them up onto the very top shelf in Lance’s closet. All the while, Shiro seemed to consider his answer.

He couldn’t seem to say anything until Lance said cautiously, “You’re… welcome to stay however long you want? I mean… I’m used to living at home with my siblings and my mom so it’s kind of weird not having anyone around.”

“Is that why you went out drinking?” Shiro asked, resting his hand on the shelf over Lance’s head.

 _Damn, I’ve known this man for four hours and he’s already got me down to a T_ , Lance thought, desperately trying to find a reason not to kiss Shiro that surmounted his yearning.

His eyes, heavy with sleep, dipped down to Shiro’s parted lips. “Yeah,” he answered.

“But then you ended up with that creep for company,” Shiro said with an amused grin.

“Yeah, but I bet you wouldn’t have offered to help if that creep hadn’t been there,” he said, and Shiro smiled at him as he tipped his forehead onto Shiro’s shoulder and sighed.

“You’re probably right. I would have had more reason to flirt with you instead, but you had enough of that for one night with that other guy,” he responded, and Lance laughed. His giddiness was shot for the night. Neither of them could articulate how they felt, especially after exhausting the last of their energy on laughing at Lance’s shirt.

Shiro turned off the light in the closet, and together they walked out into the open space of Lance’s bedroom. He didn’t have his bed frame set up, which meant that the mattress was currently propped up against the wall, unmade and yet tempting all the same. Lance tipped it off of the wall, and they watched it bounce on the floor.

“Sheets?” Shiro asked.

“It’s basically brand new, don’t worry about it,” Lance mumbled, and dropped to his knees on it. He collapsed horizontally on the mattress, and Shiro soon followed suit. Lance nestled his forearm under his head for a pillow, and looked to where Shiro groaned into the fabric of the mattress before squinting one eye open.

“Hey Shiro?” Lance asked.

“Hm?”

“This… was the best fucking hookup I’ve ever had,” he said. Shiro stared at him before snorting and shoving Lance in the side.

They fell asleep smiling in the morning light, ignoring the morning rush of cars, and the runners that flitted by the foggy windowpane of Lance’s apartment living room and bedroom. They slept past the sound of someone’s car alarm going off, and by the time Lance’s phone went off across the entire flat at exactly noon, they had nestled together on the mattress for warmth.

Eventually, though, Shiro’s phone went off. Lance had been on-and-off awake at that point, and decided now was as good a time as ever to figure out who’s call he missed, and wake Shiro up to shut off his ringer.

Lance blinked against the sunlight and quickly came to terms with the fact that he just missed half the day and more. “Hey Shiro, time to wake up,” he murmured, gently nudging his slumbering guest awake. “I’ll make breakfast.”

“No, no, let me. You let me stay the night…” Shiro whispered halfheartedly, and didn’t put up a fight when Lance insisted.

Thankfully Lance was able to glide out of an impending hangover after hanging out with Shiro, so he felt relatively normal stepping out of the bedroom. At least, he tried to _look_ normal until he was out of Shiro’s view. Lance flung two fists in the air, feet dancing rapidly on the floor into a full-out, dazzlingly triumphant jig that sang, “ _You just scored yourself One Fucking Hottie!_ ” His sister was going to _love_ hearing about this (and insist for months after that Lance’s hookup was a _real_ hookup).

His normalcy and excitement faded with the morning grogginess that took over. Shiro came out of the bedroom carrying his sweater and jacket in one hand, and wearing a black tank top that had Lance sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. He _knew_ Shiro was ripped, but _damn_! It was just too unfair.

“Do you work today?” Lance asked.

“Yeah, but not until later.”

“You never ended up telling me _where_ you work,” Lance hummed, secretly marking off his night as “free” so he could investigate for himself.

Shiro laughed under his breath, looking down at his phone for a moment before saying, “It’s a club. Downtown Daibazaal, kinda high-end, I guess.”

“Ah, so you _are_ a bodyguard,” Lance accused as the coffee maker started to hum. Shiro tossed his coat over the back of one of the stools and started tugging his sweater over his head.”

“No, just a bartender,” he said.

“Good money in that, though,” Lance added.

“There’s a reason for that—not _all_ bartenders get good tips. And dealing with drunks is no fun.” Lance laughed before remembering the state Shiro found him in. He rationalized that he hadn’t been _that_ drunk—he left all of the alcohol in the toilet back at the bar.

They worked together in pouring pancake batter into a skillet—Shiro with the ladle, and Lance with the bowl. With the cinnamon and vanilla that Lance added, they cooked soft and brown, hinted with red and the smell of heaven. They ate together at the counter with pure maple syrup drizzled over their plates.

Lance watched out of the corner of his eye as Shiro tucked his right arm to his lap. Lance wasn’t one to ask those Big Questions, mainly because he couldn’t determine what the answer would be. Still, though, it just led Lance to stare even more, formulating bizarre stories as to why Shiro was missing one hand.

“You can ask,” Shiro said, cutting a piece of pancake up and spearing it with his fork. “I’m surprised you haven’t mentioned it sooner.”

“Oh, I just—I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s better than assuming,” Shiro laughed. “But I won’t tell you unless you ask.”

Lance licked his lips and scowled at his plate. He set his fork down. “Alright. How’d you lose your hand?”

“Wow, excellent question, Lance!” Shiro mocked sarcastically, making them both laugh. “I was in the army. There was a fire in one of the buildings I was evacuating and a beam fell and cut the circulation in my wrist. They had to amputate it when they got me out of the building.”

“Holy shit,” Lance gasped. “You were in the military? I didn’t—Well, that explains a few things.”

“Like what?”

“You look like a bodyguard, that’s what,” Lance said, and Shiro tossed his head back laughing. He stopped as soon as Lance let his hand drift over Shiro’s empty wrist, and draw his thumb over Shiro’s white skin. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“Don’t be.”

“Was it your dominant hand?” he asked, and Shiro scoffed and said that it was. “Oh _God_ , that’s even _worse—_ ”

“You are so dramatic,” Shiro accused, tipping his head closer to Lance’s, teasingly, so one glance over allowed Lance the entire spectrum of grey in Shiro’s eyes, and the perfect way Shiro’s eyebrows were trimmed. Before anything could come of their proximity, Shiro leant back and finished off the last bit of pancake on his plate. “I should really go though. You probably have better things to do.”

 _Yeah, you,_ Lance thought as Shiro hopped off the stool and wandered to the steps.

Lance followed him up, eyes skimming the back of Shiro’s grey sweater before flitting back up when Shiro turned to him in the threshold. “Thanks for helping me unpack,” he all but squeaked, trying to hold back his eagerness to ask Shiro to comeback the next night, and the night after that, and every night beyond.

“No problem. I had a lot of fun, and your music taste isn’t half bad—though, a little too much Beyoncé for my taste.”

“You can never have too much Beyoncé,” he insisted, and was about to argue the point further when Shiro ducked down and pressed his lips to Lance’s cheek.

He lingered there for a moment, so Lance’s face flushed under the heat of Shiro’s cheek pressing against his own. When Shiro stepped back, he was smiling, and heading for the gate out from under the stoop.

“I left my number on your mattress. Hope you don’t mind me using one of your notebooks for it.”

“O- Oh! Yeah, that’s fine! I’ll see you around,” Lance promised, and clasped a hand over his lips, and then to his cheek where Shiro kissed him. He held his fingers there even as he closed the door behind him and wandered back down the steps. His apartment still looked and felt cold and dingy, but now it was filled with memories of the two of them staying up until seven in the morning together.


	2. {don't let him in}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance manages to track down where Shiro works and land a job? It's more likely then you think. And the black haired beauty? Lance's poor gay heart can't take this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mogi: I've given up doing my homework to go through this chapter and just see if there was anything that Sarah had left for me to do. Other than providing some awesome clap backs, these first few chapters are pretty much her going ham. But don't worry, my time will come. Enjoy ;D
> 
> Sarah: _typing up a storm on the next couple of chapters_
> 
> Mogi: welp, she would talk if she could xD

Lance started his afternoon with a sequence of phone calls to businesses who had job postings in the newspaper. When the boredom of the never-ending job hunt became too tiresome for him to continue, he sighed and flicked through the notebook he kept on him full of bored doodles and reminder notes. He spotted Shiro’s number written on the corner of one page—it was flipped open on his mattress, just as Shiro promised.

 _Wait a bit longer_ , he told himself, convincing himself that despite his current _thirst levels_ , he had to prove to Shiro that he had _some_ self-restraint.

He drummed his pencil on the countertop with a sigh. His pencil started tapping to an all-too-familiar beat that his sister managed to stick to the front of his mind at all times.

Lance’s shoulders started swaying until the lyrics started mumbling in the back of his throat. It transitioned to quiet vocals, testing the acoustics of the apartment before he reassured himself that this was _his place_. He didn’t have to worry about Julian in the room next door yelling about the volume. Lance flicked the song open on his phone and belted it out on the speakers.

“ _Talkin’ in my sleep at night makin’ myself crazy…!_ ” Lance sang, hands in the air as he twisted in his barstool, kicking his feet out, and lunging off the chair singing, “ _Wrote it down and read it out, hopin’ it would save me—!_ ”

By the time Lance was strutting across the apartment, abandoning any and all responsibilities that came with owning his own place and searching for a job, Shiro was probably back at his own place, tossing his keys on the countertop, and waiting impatiently for the call that Lance withheld with a loud, vibrant, “ _One—don’t pick up the phone, you know he’s only callin’ ‘cause he’s drunk and alone—_ ”

When Shiro’s phone _did_ ring, though, it was a well-known number already listed in his contacts. Upon answering it, he had to listen over the sound of music playing in the background, and his boss saying, “Throk’s sick and never came in for the afternoon shift. Do you think you could help clean up before you’re on?”

Shiro sighed and pushed back his worry about their unreliable coworker. He knew Lotor wouldn’t keep them around much longer if they kept up like this. “Yeah. Yeah, I can come in. Now?”

“That’d be nice. I’ve been cleaning the place myself, but that’s kind of a handful. I’d ask the dancers but—you can probably hear that they’re rehearsing.”

“I’ll be there in half an hour. I have some things to take care of first,” Shiro confessed, and after hanging up with Lotor, he combed a hand through his subtly greasy hair. Spending the night out without a care was starting to show on his uncleansed skin, so he started a shower, a playlist, and stepped out of his clothes from the day before in favor of standing under the showerhead.

Shiro wasn’t much of a singer, so he simply mumbled the lyrics under his breath in the echo of his bathroom as it misted over with steam. “ _Two, don't let him in, you have to kick him out again…_ ”

On the other end of the call, Lotor shut off his phone, tipping his hips back against one of the tables on the floor of the club he owned. He was more or less used to having to take care of the less… _glamorous_ parts of the club, but at the end of the night, he figured having to clean toilets and scrub the floors was worth it. However, watching his dancers sure beat having to lower all the chairs from the tables after mopping.

He clasped two hands over the top of the mop so he could rest his cheek against his knuckles and watch the light on the stage illuminate the synchronized kick of the dancers’ legs, arching long and slow before the beat picked up again. Dua Lipa tended to be… a _favorite_ among the workers at the club, so Lotor was _all_ too familiar with their routines to _New Rules_.

Just as Lotor noticed a blatantly empty spot on the stage, someone leaned on him, bony elbow digging into his shoulder. “You should just fire that fuck for not showing up at all.”

Lotor shrugged Keith off. “Yeah, and I should fire _you_ for not being on stage like I _asked_.”

Keith rolled his eyes, twisting around and turning his back to Lotor as he headed down the length of the bar. Lotor scowled after him, knowing exactly which finger Keith was holding up to scratch his cheek at Lotor. “Flip me off again and—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Keith interrupted, waving Lotor off with his middle finger still extended.

From on stage, Zethrid barked out a bitter laugh and yelled, “Your ass is getting flabby and you’re just embarrassed by it jigglin’ all over stage!” She accused, stepping out of the formation to stand on the edge of the stage and raise her eyebrows at him.

“You wanna _go?_ ” Keith charged the stage, foregoing the stairs to lunge up onto the platform with an ease that only came with doing it a hundred times before. Lotor put a hand over his face as Keith shouted something about challenging Zethrid to a twerking contest.

“Boy, you’re gonna lose,” Zethrid laughed. “C’mere an’ show big mama what your twink ass got.”

Keith rolled his neck and cracked all of his knuckles. “Let’s get diggity.” He clapped his hands over his head and signaled to the tech booth. “Put on Bang Bang!”

As Lotor watched the two _absolute idiots_ circle one another on the stage, two other dancers stepped off to the side now that their routine was completely trashed by the egos of their (debatably) two best dancers. They didn’t exactly have a uniform for rehearsal, but they all typically showed up in crop-tops and leggings. Of the two of them, Ezor’s hair was the most _flamboyant—_ colored pink to match her favorite color, and she tossed it over her shoulder to lean across to Acxa and whisper, “He’s gonna get his ass handed to him.” Axca could only shake her head and grin at the two of them. _Normal behavior_.

“Keith is just salty that Zeth has a better ass than him,” Acxa commented.

Ezor looped her arms over Axca’s shoulders and placed her chin on top of girlfriend’s head. “Mm, true, but this happens at _least_ every other rehearsal.”

Axca patted her arm. “Nothing wrong with some friendly competition, Ezzy.”

“At least they’re amusing.”

The song came on and it was like a switch flipped. Keith’s hips moved like water and he was using his hair to his advantage, flipping it around and making lewd faces at the rest of the dancers. Acxa scoffed off to the side, and when Keith licked his lips at her, she flipped him off. Ezor swiftly slapped the crude gesture down, linking their hands together as Zethrid came to the forefront, commanding center stage.

Zethrid pushed Keith off to one side as she kick-flipped and spun into a fantastic headstand. They all whooped and hollered at her—Zethrid was a killer breakdancer, and while Keith could pop and lock it with the hip-hop stars, he held no candle to Zethrid’s ability to control every muscle, every move, every _fiber of her being_ when it came to letting the music wash over her.

The rest of the group was getting into the song too, twirling around in their spots, laughing and clapping along whenever Keith or Zethrid dazzled the crowd. It was all gearing up for Nicki’s verse. When the beat dropped out and her rap started, the two were side by side. Their asses bouncing to the beat and everyone cheered as they kept it up. The chorus came on and Keith dropped to the floor, twerking to the ground and flipping his hair. He dragged his fingers over his head, combing between his locks of black hair, and pulling them down over the sides of his face as Ezor shrieked from the sidelines, fake-swooning into Acxa’s arms.

Zethrid was still going strong, hips vibrating as she kicked it up a notch. Her speed and stamina was a force to be reckoned with, and when paired with the movement of her legs made her twerking more of an art than a ridiculous fad. She scissored her legs, rolling her hips and propping her hands on her knees with every bounce of her well-rounded bum.  She eyed Keith down as he rocked his hips and glided up, popping his knees out and bringing them in to twist around, meeting Zethrid for the final, crushing last seconds of the song.

They kicked their energy up to _total insanity_ and were on the floor by the end of the song, panting and heaving on the floor. Keith turned to Zethrid, who beamed at him and twisted around to rise up to her feet and pull him along with her.

Clapping fill the club from Acxa and Ezor, to the sound guy, to Lotor, who was watching from the bar now. Keith laughed, leaning into Zethrid’s side as they both bowed, only to be nearly-knocked-over by Ezor tackling them from behind.

Ezor tucked her head between them and squealed, “Can I just say: You two have _excellent asses_ , but… Zethrid’s will always top your’s, Keith. It’s just a fact of life.”

He sighed but seemed to have accepted his fate _long_ ago. He just didn’t have the ass to even compare to Zethrid. “Yeah, but… When it comes to the routines…” he droned, stepping away and pegging them all with a point of his finger, eyebrows raised.

“Modesty has _always_ been your best attribute,” Acxa snorted from the other side of the stage, rolling her eyes when Keith paid her back with his middle finger raised. “Now are you gonna actually _join us_ for the routine, Mr. Hot Shot?”

“I have that new solo routine to work on! Don’t blame me—Blame Lotor for assigning it,” he insisted, pointing accusingly at their boss.

“Ha, cute,” he mocked sarcastically. “Get to work, Keith. Stop lazing around.”

“I never  _laze around_ ,” Keith insisted, offended. He could have argued the point further, but Zethrid ordered the music for the Rhapsody Routine to play. He was swiftly drowned out by the girls getting their acts together without him and sighed wistfully at the loss of attention. It didn’t help that his heart was still racing from the adrenaline of dancing with Zethrid.

As Queen came on the speakers, Keith groaned and looked pointedly to his boss. Lotor rose his eyebrows at Keith and gestured with a shooing-motion, half-heartedly chasing Keith back onto the stage where he claimed center stage, positioned back where the lighting through the curtains silhouetted him and the rest of the girls.

Just as he turned back to the front of the stage, the door in the front of the club opened and Keith narrowed his eyes at the figure that walked in. Realizing instantly what he was doing, he commanded himself to get back to work—the best way to forget about having seen Shiro coming in _early_ was to work himself to the bone. The more he occupied his thoughts with each of the movements, the less he could think about how Shiro paused beside Lotor at the bar to watch the dancers on stage, hoping that he was commanding all of Shiro’s attention with each curve of his hips.

Keith bent forward, drawing his hands up the insides of his thighs, pushing his knees out as his fingers tugged at the hem of his sweats and teased them down with the slow, drawn-out lull of Freddie Mercury singing, “ _Open your eyes… Look up to the skies and see…_ ”

He carried the weight of Ezor’s arm across his shoulders. He tipped to the side, body rolling with the motion, and swaying against Acxa on his other side. At every sharp cut of the choir vocals, their movements jerked, center-focused, a heel constantly drumming to the beat on the floor. The ache of the vocals had Keith’s expression twisting, lips covering the words silently as he sang to Zethrid.

When Freddie Mercury crooned deep, lengthened “o”s, Keith tipped back, using Zethrid’s hand to coax him along where he would be otherwise pulling on her costumed tie that night she dressed in suspenders, a lace bralette, and a loosened, glittering red tie that swept around Keith’s neck like a choker.

He swooned against her under the stage lights that night when the crowd drew their breaths in awe at their presences on the stage.

Zethrid beamed at him and straightened him out as they were drawn back to the fact that this wasn’t practice anymore.

He untied Zethrid’s costume from his neck and turned to the crowds sitting at the tables in the club. Together, the four of them gave theatrical bows before walking back to the dazzling, bead-studded curtains in the far back. The clapping continued even after they were out of sight. The beads felt cold against Keith’s hot skin as he reached for the water bottle their stage director was holding.

“Hey—that was _mine_ , my good sir,” Coran huffed, but Keith had already downed half of it. “Oh for Heaven’s sake. You really know how to push my buttons, don’t you?”

“Every last one of ‘em,” Keith remarked, and Ezor squeaked, “ _Gross!_ Stop flirting with the old man!”

“Alright, alright—get your damn costumes on girls,” Coran shouted at them, and Zethrid cackled in the background when Coran tossed her costume at her from over Keith’s head. Keith passed the water bottle back, brushing the back of his hand over his lips as he watched the stage through the side curtains. Coran pushed his next costume into his hands before shouting up the stairs, “ _Allura!_ Where in the world is that woman?”

“I haven’t seen her!” Acxa called down.

“Yeah, well, her act is up!” Coran yelled back, slapping his clipboard against his legs as Keith ducked behind one of the dressing room curtains and shimmied out of his skimpy leather jeans to tug on his next costume. “ _Allura!_ ”

“ _What!_ I’m here, I’m here—sorry I’m late,” her voice came sprinting in from the back door. Her heels clacked against the wood floors as Coran gave her a scolding, shoved her routine costume into her hands, and ordered her to get her face on for the next act.

Keith shimmied into his underwear for his act, clipping his garters onto the hem of them. The netting on his legs was scratchy on his hot skin, but he figured the best way to forget about it was to think about everything _but_ that. He put his attention on the pants he buttoned up the sides and gave an experimental tug on them in the mirror. One of the buttons popped, and he thought, _Perfect_.

The filler act got off the stage just as Allura came down the spiral staircase, teasing up her heavy mane of white hair, and smiling innocently at Coran as he rolled his eyes. “You’re on, sweetheart,” he said, pushing her towards the beaded curtains. While Coran was distracted by making sure Allura was all set to go, Keith stole his water bottle again and finished it off. “ _Keith!_ ” Coran shrieked, but he was already running off, chasing Zethrid up the stairs where they wouldn’t be clobbered upside the heads.

 

* * *

 

Lance had been to clubs before, but… that was a detail Shiro left out of his job description. Lance double checked his phone to ensure that this _was_ the place he intended to go to. The building was made of yellowing, grey bricks spotted with mortar that gave it an antique look. The rounded arcs of the blacked-out windows added to the effect, and not to mention the elaborate marquee sign over his head that flickered in glowing lights, “ _Downtown Daibazaal_.”

“Well… I’ll just be sticking to the bar anyways,” he told himself, suppressing the anxiety of crowded spaces full of sweaty bodies and gross EDM music.

Lance walked over to the side entrance where the steps led him into a dimly lit foyer, doused over in satin reds and velvet seats. He felt his excitement flare in his chest, drumming with the sensual music spilling in from the main room. Just as he was about to check out where the lights were coming from, he was confronted by a man in the booth.

“You coming for the show, hun?” he asked Lance, whose gaze flickered back from the stained glass separating him from a beautiful white haired woman on the stage.

The man was decked out in glittering sequins, and dark eyeliner that accentuated his green eyes. Lance was startled by the appearance and then again by the saxophone on the speakers pulling long, gorgeous notes out of the woman’s lips— _lip syncing_ , he told himself.

“Uh… what is this place?” Lance asked as the woman sang a covered version of Frank Sanatra—“ _Suddenly I saw…. Polka dots and moonbeams… all around a pug-nosed dream…_ ”

“You buyin’ a ticket or what, sweetie?” the guy asked, leaning over the counter to grin at Lance.

“Is this a strip club or something?” Lance asked, and the man all but gasped, startling Lance completely.

“The _nerve_ —! Ever heard of _burlesque?_ ” he asked.

Lance shook his head, eyes widening at this sudden realization. This wasn’t the club scene he was picturing—the tables were filled with classy men and women cradling wine and whiskey in their glasses. The stage was basked in deep red, beaded curtains, and massive, beautiful murals painted the walls and the balcony seatings that reminded Lance of concert halls he attended back in high school.

“How much?” Lance asked, going for his wallet. He passed twenty dollars over for the admission and headed off, slowly, stunned into silence as his eyes clung to the stage and the woman dressed in a skimpy white, frilly dress.

She looked entirely like the mistress Lance would find in a sexy foreign film. Lance couldn’t deny how disappointed he was when she bowed for her act and disappeared behind stage. He leaned against the stained glass window frame and pouted, only to move to the side to avoid a group of people that were wandering over to the main room. Lance watched them in all their fancy suits and elegant long dresses and frowned down at his jeans and his hand-me-down jacket.

 _I did not come prepared for any of this_ , he thought dreadfully.

His attention was diverted by the music change and the abrupt shift in the beat. He looked up, startled by the all-too-familiar song that he and his sister had the _strong_ habit of singing and dancing to whenever it came on the radio. A few people in the crowd clapped and hollered in excitement when the dancer came out, her uniform nothing like the previous white-haired woman’s. She was dressed in shiny leggings and a loose, frilly shirt that glinted in the spotlights.

Her head was down for the saxophone solo at the start, eyes masked by a hat that flew off and— _shit_. Lance’s jaw dropped when he realized that _she_ wasn’t even a woman at all.

“ _Give it to me I’m worth it—_ ”

The guy’s legs spread, hands going to his thigh and chest, rolling his hips and chest synchronously and melting every last fiber of Lance’s being with _that goddamn perfection_. His movements were fast, calculated, and each sharp angle of his arms triggered a wave effect, coursing down his chest and abdomen, hips and knees. The part that floored Lance the most was the fact that this guy was wearing _heels_ and was _dancing like that_.

 _I can see why the crowd loved him before he even started dancing_ , Lance thought, moving past all of the stained glass windows to get a clear shot of the stage when Fifth Harmony blended with the Kid Ink rap sequence.

The man grabbed the crotch of his pants and _yanked on them_. The pants went flying off to the side, and Lance clasped his hands over his mouth, thinking, _Fuck I am so gay right now_. As if Lance couldn’t handle this man’s hips when they were covered, and _now?_ That skimpy lace underwear was doing little to cover up anything, and Lance wanted so terribly to thread his fingers through the Y-string of those garters where they connected to the hem of the lace.

“ _I tell her bring it back ‘cause she left somethin’—_ ” He cross-stepped to the side, rolling his hips and drawing his arms up, elbows forward, pushing them back as he rocked his hips forward, back, to the motion of his shoulders inverting the movement.

“ _Uh—In the club with the lights off—_ ” He pressed his hands flat against his chest, moving down to his abs, and tearing at the fabric of his shirt. A layer of it flew off, tossed to the side of the stage. “ _Whatchu actin’ shy for? Come and show me that you’re—_ ”

He crossed the stage, closer to Lance than ever before with the beat of “ _Wit it—Wit it—Wit it—Wit it—_ ” sending his heels rocking side to side, chest movements slow in comparison. The sheer amount of this man’s _body control_ had Lance realizing how _little of it he had_.

When Fifth Harmony came back on, the man looked in Lance’s general direction, but Lance’s heart screamed, “ _He’s staring right at you!_ ” He tore off another strip of his shirt and strutted back to center stage.

Lance clasped his hands to his neck, feeling the racing of his heart all the way up his throat. He loved every part of this.

It took a split second for Lance to remember that this was Shiro’s _workplace_. Shiro worked here. Shiro was at the bar—

Lance looked around frantically for the bar, and found it directly in the back, opposite the stage. Lance hurriedly passed the side of the dining room area and all but sprinted over to where he recognized Shiro’s spot of white hair among the other bartenders reflected in the panels of mirrors behind them. He hesitated for a split second, realizing that Shiro was _shirtless_ and wearing a _black vest_ and _eyeliner_.

 _I don’t think my heart can take much more of this_ , he thought, all but fainting against the bar like he reached some sort of finish line by getting there. He recovered fast, propping his chin up on his hand and smiling dashingly, like he _wasn’t_ imploding on the inside.

“ _Rolo_ —for God’s sake, take these drinks to table seven,” Shiro called down the bar to where one of the waiters was leaning against the bar, flirting hopelessly with one of the customers sitting beside him. Shiro sighed, rolling his eyes, and felt his heart sink when he recognized Lance at the far end of the bar, smiling brilliantly at him.

Lance laughed at the startled look on Shiro’s face. Clearly, he hadn’t been expecting Lance at all that night. “What the hell’re you—”

“You _work here?_ ” Lance interrupted, standing straighter as Shiro reached him. “This place is _incredible!_ ”

“Lance—”

“How long have you been _working here_ ? Who the hell is _that hottie_ ? Do you know all of the dancers?” Lance demanded, pointing to the stage where he was momentarily distracted by that man now _on his knees_ , pushing his black hair over his face…

“Lance, seriously, what are you doing here?” Shiro laughed, and Lance was thankful that he didn’t sound _too_ furious. He could see the annoyance on Shiro’s face, though, and had the good sense to feel guilty about it.

“I- I’m sorry, I just—I wanted to see where you worked. I don’t—I don’t know too many people around here, ya know,” Lance explained, hoping the expression on his face was enough to have Shiro pitying him. It sure beat _annoyance_. “And—I’m _so_ glad I did. The dancers are _incredible_.”

Shiro laughed at Lance’s starstruck fascination with the black-haired beauty on stage. The song ended, and they all regretfully had to watch the man disappear behind the curtain again. The curtain drew closed for an intermission, and the club filled with chatter and classy, jazzy vibes.

In the momentary quiet, Lance turned back to Shiro and sighed dreamily against the countertop. “You _really_ like it here, huh?” Shiro commented, and Lance nodded fast. “Burlesque isn’t really—well, it’s _popular_ , but I think it’s more of a preferred taste. You know? So I didn’t mention it earlier. I couldn’t tell if you’d be interested in.. that sort of scene.”

“I am _so_ interested in it. So do you know the dancers? Who was that one up there just now?” Lance demanded, grabbing the nearest empty barstool to sit on and _attempt_ to blend in. It was difficult to do so, considering he was wearing jeans and a hoodie jacket among slacks and pleated dresses.

“ _That_ , was Keith. He’s one of Lotor’s best dancers—Lotor’s the owner,” Shiro explained, and Lance nodded quickly, absorbing it all. “But the floor is separate from the stage. We don’t really interact with the dancers much.”

“The woman with white hair?”

“Allura. She’s excellent with the more classic styles of music.”

“She was _beautiful_ ,” Lance gasped. “Who else is there? I just got here, I’m not sure who I missed.”

There were several other dancers—eight of them, in fact. But aside from them, Shiro gestured over to the side of the stage where a band was setting up for the second half of the show. “Hunk over there—the drummer—is in charge of the band. When we aren’t using recordings of music, they’re playing.”

“So… Everyone lip syncs on stage then?” Lance commented, and Shiro nodded, hesitated, and shook his head. “No?”

“Well—there _used_ to be a dancer who sang. She’s incredible, but… there was a whole incident and she hasn’t danced since. Lotor revolved the entire show around her, so things changed fast when she was gone from the business,” Shiro explained.

Lance sighed dreamily for perhaps the hundredth time that night. “I want to work here… Shiro, I want to work here so badly,” he moaned, and as Shiro rolled his eyes away from the situation, Lance groaned into the counter and called attention to himself from all of the other customers near him.

“Right, well, I don’t take care of that stuff. And you do _not_ want to work here—you’re just saying that,” Shiro said, glancing down the bar and realizing that he was being flagged down by a customer. “Hold on, I have to take care of someone. Don’t go anywhere,” he warned, pointing an accusing finger at Lance. Lance crossed his heart and raised the hand dramatically. Shiro rolled his eyes and wandered off.

When Shiro finished up making several drinks, he returned to where Lance was sitting, only to find the spot empty. He leaned against the counter and looked around the floor in search of that ridiculous boy who was– _shit_.

Lance had claimed the tray of drinks for table seven and was coasting between tables. He arranged the glasses around the customers sitting there, smiling at him and feeding Lance’s ego without even knowing it. Shiro cursed under his breath and wondered if this was how he died—by the hands of a man he wanted to date, who now wanted so terribly to _work with him_.

Lance returned to the empty spot at the bar where Shiro waited for him. Lance huffed at the disappointed look on his friend’s face and said, “Well, table eight wants a merlot and a Guiness. Are you going to get it or will I?”

“Lance—what are you doing?” Shiro said.

“ _Working—_ ”

“You don’t _work here_.”

“ _Yet_ ,” he corrected. “And would you rather have me or dicks-for-brains down there?” Lance nodded over to where Rolo was still batting his fake-eyelashes at the customer at the end of the bar.

Shiro all but growled, muttering curses under his breath as he slapped a wine glass onto Lance’s tray and poured him a merlot, and then popped the cap off a Guiness bottle for Lance to take to table eight. Lance yelped in excitement but stifled it when Shiro shushed him. “Just— _ugh_ , get to work,” Shiro hissed. “But you are _not working here_.”

“Aye aye, captain,” Lance said, saluting him as he twisted around and headed back to the floor.

Lance didn’t know what the fuck he was doing—he just knew that he wanted this to work out. He could already picture every night of his week here, on that stage, practicing and rehearsing until his feet bled and he saw bandages as trophies for his absurd amount of commitment. He saw himself on that stage dressed in white, singing melodramatically to Shiro from where they stood at opposite sides of the club…

But, more importantly, he saw himself dancing side-by-side with that black-haired beauty—or, better yet, _front-to-back_. He couldn’t even deny how turned on he was and _fuck it_ , if he worked with that man— _Keith_ —Lance would lose all self-control.

Lance returned to the bar after his tenth round of drinks and was startled by a white-haired beauty sitting in the chair he met the bartenders at for drinks. He slowed, wondering frantically if this was the woman he saw on stage, but he caught a slight view of this person’s jawline and thought, _Nope, not the same person_.

Shiro wandered over to their side of the bar as Lance slowly pushed a tray of empty bar glasses onto the countertop, aware that every movement was watched by this white-haired man sitting beside him. _Damn, he looks like he’s an elf straight out of Lord Of The Rings_ , Lance mused, eyes wide as Shiro laughed at his reaction.

“Lance, this is Lotor Alverez. The owner of Downtown.”

“Oh—Oh! It’s a pleasure to meet you—your club is… _incredible_. And your dancers are phenomenal,” Lance said frantically, heart racing as he held out a hand to Lotor.

The man smiled, showing his vampiric canines and all, and gingerly rested his hand into Lance’s. He gave it a soft shake as he said, “I hear you’ve been giving my bartenders a tough time.”

Lance turned all shades of red, and Shiro leaned forward with a laugh. “Yeah, well, he’s doing better work than the other waiters. And he isn’t even getting paid.”

“ _Yet_ ,” Lance interrupted. “Lotor—sir—I want to work here.”

“Well, I could always use more waiters—”

“I want to be one of your dancers, sir,” he insisted, watching Lotor’s eyes widen before he burst into laughter. Lance’s heart deflated. “I can _dance_ and—”

“Okay, first off: Don’t call me sir. You make me feel like my _father_ ,” he said, pressing the back of his hand over his mouth to hold back another laugh. “And second: Don’t get ahead of yourself, sweetie. I’ll take you as a waiter, nothing more, nothing less. Got it?”

“But—” Lance started, but Lotor was already hopping off his stool, and walking away.

“You start tomorrow night! Shiro, get him caught up on protocol,” he ordered, pointing a finger to Shiro, who gave him a mocking two-fingered salute and a smile.

“Don’t worry about him,” Shiro said, pulling Lance’s attention back to him. “He may look as aloof as Legolas, but he’s a good guy.”

Lance sagged with relief against the bar. “ _Oh thank god..._ I was hoping I wasn’t the only one who saw him and thought ‘Lord Of The Rings’!”

Shiro leaned in from across the bar, gesturing for Lance to come closer. “Okay, but since you’re apparently working here now…” he started, and Lance hid his giddy smile behind his hand until Shiro pushed a tray of glasses between them. “Table fifteen.”

“You _ass_ ,” Lance bit out, but when he turned away, his false anger turned into a delighted grin. The anxious weight of having an apartment without a job was now banished from his mind, and if that meant having to serve drinks to tables under Shiro’s orders, then so be it.

Besides… having Shiro as a manager couldn’t be _that_ terrible. Even in the dark maroon hues of the club, Lance could see the red reflect on Shiro’s cheeks whenever he flirted audaciously from the other side of the bar.

 _Yeah, I could get used to this_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come scream at us!
> 
> Mogi: [thespace-dragon](http://thespace-dragon.tumblr.com/)  
> Sarah: [girlskylark](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/)


	3. { hold on to me }

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance needs an upgrade. Who knew we needed a Matt and Keith friendship? I didn't. Shiro's existential crises. Yeah.

 

Lance’s excitement about his day vibrated within his chest and sent his heart pounding when everything calmed down, and the chairs were all lifted and placed atop their designated tables. All of the dancers left through the back door that night, so Lance was left to the front room, waiting for Shiro to finish inventory. He sat at one of the stools, drumming his hands on the countertop as he heard Lotor walk past from behind him. Rolo was sat at one of the chairs near Lance, counting through his tips.

“Have a nice night guys—make sure to lock the doors before you leave, Shiro,” Lotor said.

“Will do,” he promised.

“And Lance,” Lotor added, sending Lance spinning around, hands clasped over his lap. Lotor hesitated, and ended with a smile. “Nice work today.”

Lance beamed, watching his boss walk off past the stained glass windows and out past the booth. When he was out of sight, Lance spun back around and found Shiro grinning smugly at him. “What?”

“You’re just… I can’t believe that stunt you pulled today. I’m surprised Lotor went along with it,” he confessed. “Did you get your tips?”

“Oh! Yeah, but—technically I wasn’t supposed to work today—” Lance started, uncertain as he pushed the stacks of bills forward.

“Keep them. You earned them,” Shiro said. “Let’s check to make sure you split them up right, though. Here, we have the waiters leave a small percentage of their tips to the bartenders for making the drinks, but since I get tips at the bar, it doesn’t amount to much that you have to give to us.”

“Oh—”

“Count it all again for me,” he commanded, leaning against the bartop as Lance started to separate the bills again, cheeks flushing as he realized that Shiro was watching him every step of the way. Once the total was tallied up, Shiro pulled out a calculator and helped him factor in the bartender’s tip. He gave up five dollars to Shiro. “And then the other five will go to the person who worked with me tonight.”

“What about the change?”

“Don’t worry about it. We aren’t keeping tabs on you or anything for not giving us a nickel,” Shiro reassured him. “Now you’re good to go. I’ll see you tomorrow night at five.”

“But I want to walk you back to your place,” Lance said, and in the stretch of silence that ensued, Lance blushed even further when he saw the pained expression on Rolo’s face as he slid off his stool, grabbed his money, and left. 

“Bye Rolo—have a nice night!” Shiro called out to him. 

“See you tomorrow!”

When the front door closed, Lance turned back to Shiro again, full of hope, and smiled encouragingly despite Shiro’s frown. “Lance…” he started, “I don’t—I don’t _date coworkers_. I don’t feel comfortable continuing whatever we had last night if you’re gonna be working here.”

Lance’s mouth fell open, but nothing came out except a startled, “Oh…” He recovered quickly, though, shaking his head and saying, “That’s fine! We can just be friends then. And  _ as your friend _ … I want to walk you back to your place.”

Shiro’s eyebrows were drawn up in distress, and when he looked away from Lance to head back to the cash register, he braced himself for the rejection. Lance told himself that he couldn’t have everything, and it was unrealistic for him to assume that he could get The Guy and The Job in the same day. It was easier to accept one rather than both.  _ Stop pushing your luck _ , he told himself.

“Fine. Guess there’s… no harm in a little  _ walk _ ,” Shiro decided. “And I guess you still don’t really know your entire job description…”

“You can tell me about it along the way!” Lance insisted, his eagerness drawing out a laugh from Shiro. 

Shiro had Lance carry the recycling out, and by the time he came back to the entrance, Shiro was locking it and pocketing the key. Lance fell in step with Shiro, his tip money zipped up in a pocket of his hoodie jacket as Shiro sighed beside him. The Chicago air was cold, and the breeze didn’t help at all with warming Lance’s now-numb cheeks. Lance unlocked his bike from one of the stop signs and walked it between them down the sidewalk. 

“That’s a nice bike,” Shiro commented, gesturing to it.

Lance flicked the bell on one of the handles twice, eliciting a laugh from Shiro as he said, “Why thank you. I spent all of senior year of high school saving up for it since I knew I wouldn’t be able to afford college for the life of me.”

“What would you have gone into?”

“For my major?” he reiterated, and Shiro nodded. “I don’t… I don’t know. I don’t think I could have gone anywhere with them. I… only ever really cared about the arts. But everyone told me I wouldn’t be able to get far with that. Probably theatre? Like, acting and stuff.”

“You mentioned that your brother’s in college now though,” Shiro said, and Lance groaned, slumping his head onto his shoulder. “Sore subject?”

“No. It’s just—like, you can’t exactly  _ pick _ what you want to love, you know? And my brother just happened to love math and science and that shit. He… got a full ride to Northwestern University and Financial Aid covers all of his housing if he lives on campus all four years,” he explained, and just talking about it made his usually-nonexistent jealousy spring forth. “I mean, I’m  _ so _ fucking proud of him. Like, I’m surprised I’m related to someone as smart as him…”

“But not everyone can pick what they love,” Shiro repeated.

“Ex _actly_.”

“What about your sister?” he asked, and Lance’s mood instantly switched.

“Rosa! Yeah, she’s  _ incredible _ , as you know. I don’t know what happened with my brother, but Rosa and I are the creative ones and then he’s just this blob of pure  _ brain _ . She loves to paint and shit and you might have seen some of her prints when we were unpacking stuff back at my place. All of art in my apartment is her work.”

“Then I agree—she  _ is _ incredible,” Shiro said. They turned the corner of the street they first met, and they paused at the window of the bar Lance stumbled out of the night before. They continued onwards. 

“But enough about my siblings,” Lance said. “Tell me about Downtown Daibazaal!”

Shiro laughed, tucking his hand into his pocket as he shook his head. From that point on in their walk, they talked about work and the expectations all waiters were meant to uphold. Lance absorbed it all and was grateful that his ability to memorize shit hadn’t faded from high school. He always had excellent grades—but whether or not he  _ cared about them _ was another story. He figured it always had something to do with the fact that he was always great at memorizing lines and lyrics for musicals and plays, and that contributed to his grades one way or the other.

They slowed at an apartment building where Shiro said, “And Lance?”

“Hm?”

“I know that you being a waiter feels temporary for you, but—” Lance expected to be scolded, to be told that he wouldn’t take this seriously, and he was fully prepared to argue against it. “—one of Lotor’s requirements for dancers is to be able to dance in heels. Have you ever worn heels before?”

Startled, Lance’s jaw dropped, closed, and dropped again. He shook his head. “N-No, I never really had a  _ reason _ to wear heels—”

“Then do yourself a favor and invest in some. I mean, if your plan  _ is _ to become a dancer at Downtown,” he said, grinning at Lance as he backed up towards the door. 

Lance surprised himself by laughing as he said, “You’ve known me for a  _ day _ and you already know me too well!” 

He chased Shiro off to the door, where he swiped his key and shrugged Lance off when he tried to tease Shiro about this-or-that, but overall, they were laughing too hard before Shiro propped the door open with his shoulder and turned back to grin down at Lance. Lance propped his bike up on its stand and leant a hand on his hip. 

Lance was starstruck all over again. What were the chances that a bartender at Downtown Daibazaal would offer to drive him home? He told himself not to test his luck, but… just one time… 

“Thanks so much for helping me out,” Lance said, stepping closer so he could look up at Shiro through his eyelashes, testing his boundaries, before slipping his arms around Shiro’s waist to hug him close. “I’m so glad that I met you.”

The tension in Shiro’s chest slackened, and he let his arms drop around Lance. They stood in the threshold of the half-open door, holding onto one another. Lance sighed against Shiro’s shoulder and reminded himself of what Shiro warned him of.  _ He doesn’t date coworkers. Don’t get your hopes up _ . 

Lance stepped back, and the second Shiro said, “I’m glad too,” Lance’s brain was saying,  _ Fuck it _ . 

Hands still on Shiro’s sweater, Lance tugged on it harder, pulling Shiro down for slow, hesitant kiss. Lance pressed himself closer, angling his chin so their lips fit together perfectly. Shiro’s response was everything Lance could have hoped for—his arms tightened around Lance’s waist, leaning in, laying his hand on the small of Lance’s back, pressing in as if he could  _ feel _ Lance’s Venusian dimples through the fabric of his jacket.

Their lips separated with slow, drawn-out kisses when Lance sought to pepper Shiro with a dozen more. Lance combed his fingers up, cupping Shiro by the shoulders. Shiro tipped his head back, and leant it against the open door frame as Lance smiled cheekily at him. 

“I can’t, Lance,” Shiro said, but his reddened lips said otherwise. Lance leant up to kiss him again, but Shiro shook his head, lying his other forearm against Lance’s chest. “Really. I can’t.”

Lance’s eyes flickered back down to Shiro’s lips, and then to his eyes—stern, and entirely serious. “Fine. Won’t happen again…  _ boss _ ,” he jested, stepping back and reveling in the fact that Shiro’s hand glided over his hips before falling to his side. “Just friends.”

Shiro nodded, tucking his hand back into his pocket as he repeated, “Just friends.”

 

. . .

 

The next morning, Lance went through the trouble of calling his sister on a Saturday—her designated sleep-in day. He expected her to be bitter about being interrupted from sleep, but she answered the phone with a gasp, exploding with an excited, “ _ Lance! _ You aren’t dead!”

“I never said I was…?”

“Of course you wouldn’t! Because you’d be dead then!” she shouted. He laughed, giggling like a child as he tucked himself against the pillows on his futon, grinning into them as Rosa continued. “How’s it  _ goin’ _ ? How’s the apartment life? The lonesome bachelor apartment life?”

“Great! Yeah, real great. I… actually wanna tell you all about it in person… preferably….” He bit his lip to keep from laughing again as Rosa shrieked into the phone.

“Can I come to your place! Oh my God, have you unpacked everything?”

“Mostly? I mean, I sorta want you to… drive me around for a bit. Practice your driving stuff, yeah?” he suggested. “I actually need to go clothes shopping.”

“Oh yeah? For what? Got a  _ daaate _ ?” she taunted. Lance rolled his eyes as she said, “Just kidding. Yeah, I could drive. You comin’ home then?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll take a bus to the station by your school,” he promised, and as they organized their plan of attack. After hanging up, Lance took a moment to recollect his thoughts, and stop himself from smiling about everything his life was becoming. It had been  _ years _ since he had friends outside of his part-time jobs, and Shiro felt like both. His old workplaces secluded him from the socializing aspect of “making friends with coworkers”, but… he could already tell that Downtown Daibazaal would be an excellent home for him.

Lance squealed, kicking his legs and tucking his hands under his chin before stopping with a gasp. He threw his hands down on the futon, squinting across the room as his eyes caught on something black in the kitchen. He hurried out of his seat and inspected it—a coat that  _ definitely _ wasn’t his, and it was sitting where Shiro spent the morning eating cinnamon vanilla pancakes. 

“That little  _ shit _ ,” he laughed, picking it up, “forgot his jacket.”

He left his apartment wearing Shiro’s black peacoat. He spent a solid five minutes just trying to  _ lock his goddamn door _ , and then wandered out to grab the next bus heading for the neighborhood his ma and Rosa lived in. 

As Lance’s bus headed south, Keith hopped on a bus that would take him to the dance studio he often practiced at when he didn’t want to disrupt the routines at Downtown. It was a decent alternative, and despite thriving in the spotlight, it helped to dance unsupervised once in a while. He hated being cooped up in his apartment, and it was too small anyways to warrant adequate dancing room.

Keith’s phone buzzed in his pocket. The bus rocked underneath a set of train tracks that were vaulted overhead as Keith answered the call, plugging one ear so he could hear his dance partner’s voice on the other line.

“Hey! Where are you? I just got the key to the room,” Matt said.

“I’m a few blocks away. Give me three minutes?”

“Better hurry it up or else I’ll—”

“You’ll what? Practice a damn duet on your own?” Keith remarked.

“Oh, piss off,” he laughed. “We all know I’m the star of the show. It’s basically a solo.”

“You’re so fucking full of yourself,” Keith laughed, rising to stand by the door. He hiked up his gym back as the bus slowed on the curb. “We’ll see what Coran has to say about that.”

“I can’t believe you. I’ve been at Downtown longer that you, and you’re, like, Lotor’s favorite slut. Why can’t I be a favorite slut?” Matt whined.

“Lotor  _ hates _ me,” he insisted,  _ At least, I hope he does _ . “You’re either delusional or just idiotic.”

“Are you kidding? Since that whole shitshow with Narti, he’s got so many routines centered around you. You can’t say that’s coincidence.”

Keith swallowed hard at the thought of Narti. While he hated Lotor, Lotor’s girlfriend was another matter entirely. He still considered himself excellent friends with Narti, but they didn’t see each other  _ nearly _ as often since  _ The Incident _ . What with all of her doctor’s appointments and need for supervision, she didn’t spend much time at the club anymore. When she did, Keith saw just how much she lit up the place with her smile alone.

His sigh translated over the line. “Sorry. No more talk about Narti,” Matt apologized.

“It’s fine. It’s not like she’s  _ my _ girlfriend,” he remarked. “Narti would have an aneurysm if she found out we’re doing her and Allura’s  _ Blue _ Routine.”

“ _ Sh! _ Don’t say it outloud! She might hear you!” Matt hissed as Keith pushed through the rotating door with a roll of his eyes. He hung up on Matt as he smiled at the receptionist. His heels clicked along the tiled floors, and up the steps leading to the second floor of studios, where he found his and Matt’s room already open with the lights on.

Keith leaned in past the cloudy windows, and beamed at the sight of the infamous Matt Holt stretching his arms over his head in the reflection of the studio mirrors. Keith tapped his knuckles on the door, and laughed when Matt gasped, dropping everything he was doing to lunge at Keith. 

“ _ Ah! _ I haven’t seen you ages!” he shrieked, and Keith completely expected to be hefted off his feet into a twirling hug. “You look incredible!”

“It’s all of the Pizza Rolls,” Keith said, and when Matt finally released him, he turned back to kick the door shut. “How was the internship?”

“Great! But I don’t wanna talk about  _ that _ —I wanna talk about  _ you! _ ” Matt insisted. “Lotor says you’ve been kicking ass and taking names. That true?”

“I mean…”

Matt scowled at him, dropping his hands to his sides with a blunt. “What is it? I mean, life’s better now, yeah?”

“It is! Yeah, yeah, it is,” Keith said, scratching the back of his head as he shrugged off his gym back and tossed it into the corner of the room where Matt’s things were compiled. When he looked up again, Matt was scowling past the fringe of his baby hairs that didn’t fit into his ponytail. “Don’t look at me like that,” Keith huffed.

Matt raised an eyebrow, throwing his arms up in surrender. “Whoa, sorry I care a little too much about my friend sometimes. I’ve already kicked Shiro’s ass once—you want me to do it again?”

“No, no…” Keith sighed, forcing a laugh. He leant up against the wooden rail attached to the mirrors, twisting the heel of his shoe around on the floor. “I just haven’t been feeling right. About anything, really…  _ especially _ Shiro. Last night he spent all night talking to this new kid at the bar and I just…”

“New kid?” Matt asked. “Like, a dancer?”

“No, a waiter. Which—I can’t even tell if that’s  _ worse _ . Shiro gets that look on his face whenever they’re talking,” he explained. “I just don’t want to be up there  _ humiliating myself _ while Shiro’s, like, off flirting with the new kid. What kind of horseshit is that? That’s  _ so  _ hypocritical of him.”

“You  _ know _ he didn’t do this to you because he didn’t care about you, though,” Matt said, and Keith pinched his hands together, increasing the pressure so that it mirrored the aching behind his eyes. “Like, it wasn’t an excuse. Shiro’s more straightforward than that.”

“I know he is.” Keith’s voice wavered, but he forced it back and straightened up. “ _ Fuck _ . Okay, I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

Keith spared a glance at his friend, with all his gentle features and  _ good intentions _ . “Okay. Moving on, then,” Matt agreed. “Lotor sent me the original footage of Allura and Narti. So… we could start with that?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Keith agreed, pushing a hand through his hair before looping it into a tight braid that hugged the back of his neck. 

As the two of them sat and studied the choreography that Keith recalled from when he first started working at Downtown, Keith allowed himself to forget about everyone outside of this room for just a moment. He was thrilled to have Matt back, if only for a few months, but it didn’t change the fact that Narti was no longer on their team. Matt wouldn’t fill the gap she left behind, and Keith was convinced that  _ no one would _ . 

Matt became a fast friend among the dancers at Downtown Daibazaal after everything shitty was supposed to be over, but persisted in being shittier. It might have had something to do with the fact that Keith helped out Matt’s little sister more than once when it came to getting in contact with Shiro, and on occasion, getting her home from university safe. It didn’t help that the Holts’ parents were no longer in the picture, which meant Matt worked full-time through the summer-fall internship in Milwaukee, and his sister, Pidge, worked after class hours in a paid research group developing prosthetics for amputee victims—hence the correlation with Shiro.

No one was supposed to know Matt Holt was back in town until the grand reveal tonight. It was the only day Matt would have off before starting up with normal routines at Downtown again, so they only had one afternoon to get the routine right for that night. 

Lotor was in on the plan—clearly, otherwise he wouldn’t let such a spontaneous thing fly, which also meant that Narti would be a guest for the night. 

Even months spent away from each other, Matt and Keith were somehow still in sync, and they spent the first minute of the routine completely in rhythm with each other that Keith’s giddiness spilled over into giggles that had them both cutting the play short so Matt could fall on the floor screaming, “S-Stop laughing!  _ Why Keith, why _ —!”

 

. . .

 

“I just—I don’t want you to be alarmed by this,” Lance started as he and his sister walked into Boston Store and directly to the women’s shoes section.

“Too late, I’m already alarmed,” Rosa said, eyeing Lance skeptically as she questioned, “Is this musical you told mom about actually a drag race?”

“Wha—?  _ Rosa! _ ”

“Kidding! Oh my God, but I wouldn’t even be surprised,” she said, plucking up the high heel shoe Lance was inspecting. “All my friends were right about you…”

“I can’t believe I decided to tag you along with this,” he sighed. “Are you just gonna scream about me trying on heels, or are you gonna help me out?”

Rosa leant up against one of the displays, waving around the heel of the shoe like it was a knife she was threatening him with. “That depends…”

“Stop being so dramatic,” he groaned. “I got a job, and it’s not at that… theatre, or whatever I told Ma.”

Rosa crooned annoyingly, and laughed when Lance shoved her in the shoulder. “All right! All right, fine. Are you a stripper now—Oh my God you  _ are _ —! Good money… You better be buying a brand new camera for me for my birth-day…” she sang, twirling around the displays before collapsing in one of the chairs as Lance picked up a box of shoes to test his size. He wasn’t exactly familiar with  _ women’s shoes _ , so it took a few guesses to get it right.

“ _ No _ , I’m  _ not _ a stripper,” Lance huffed, yanking his shoes off. “I… work at a club… but right now I’m just a waiter. But—have you ever heard of a burlesque club?”

She shrugged, and so he explained the atmosphere of it, the way it looked inside when he saw Allura on stage and all the elegant people sat at their tables ordering expensive wine… Rosa was just as fascinated as Lance was in a matter of seconds after describing it. She pushed her hands through her heavy black hair and gasped, “ _ Dude _ , that’s your gig! I wanna go!”

“Hell no—oh my God—”

“Come on… It’d be fun! I’ll bring some of my friends along!”

“It’s twenty-one plus, Rosa,” he said, and added before she could argue, “And I am  _ not _ getting you a fake ID just to get into a  _ burlesque club _ .”

Rosa griped and groaned for an entire three pairs of heels Lance staggered around in before huffing and lunging off of her chair. “You’re walking all funky. If you plan on being a dancer, you can’t be twiddling around on your tipsy-toes.”

Lance frowned at her, hands on his hips as he stuck his nose in the air. “I do not  _ twiddle around _ .”

“Yeah, well, right now ya are,” she accused. “Walk with your heels first.”

“But—low surface area,” he said, but she forced him into it anyways. She walked alongside him and slapped his gangly legs whenever he wasn’t “sauntering.” With Lance’s ability to walk now semi-accepted by his little sister, they dug into the endless amounts of heels in search of two decent pairs for Lance to practice in. 

Rosa patted down the sleeves of Lance’s coat and slapped his bum. He jumped, shielding himself from her as she said, “Nice coat. What, did you go on a shopping spree  _ already? _ ”

“ _ No! _ No, it’s, um, I… may or may not have  _ met someone _ ,” he confessed, biting his lip as he hurried back to the chairs where their shit was, and all of the boxes full of shoes were. He looked back and saw Rosa staring at him through the mirror reflection, her jaw dropping. 

“Is this someone a  _ guy _ , by any chance?” she inquired, turning back to him with a toss of her curly hair.

“He  _ is _ . His name is Shiro and he got me the job,” he said, preening as Rosa ran over squealing and shaking him by the lapels of Shiro’s jacket. “But—! But we’re just friends! Just friends for now, but I have high hopes.”

“Oh my  _ God _ ! If I can’t have a love life, you might as well, huh?” she said, throwing her arms around his neck with a laugh. “I live for all of your drama. What’s he like?”

“He’s Asian—”

“Perfect. I love him already.”

“—He’s got black hair, but some of it’s greying in the front…”

“Wait—How old is this guy?” she questioned, pushing back as Lance laughed.

“Twenty-five. I’m not lying! Stop accusing me of being weird and gross, _ bleh! _ ” he cried out, kicking his legs out as Rosa maneuvered away with a disgusted look on her face. “Stop being so dramatic! He’s a bartender and he’s real sweet and he’s the one who actually helped me unpack everything, so… my apartment’s all clean because of him.”

“You’ve already  _ taken him to your place _ !  _ Lance! _ You saucy devil,” she accused, and bent down to snatch up a pair of shoes that had thicker heels. They were sleek, black, and accented with silver zippers down the sides. Lance had already tried them on. 

“Nothing  _ happened _ ,” he insisted, and knew instantly that he was going to be having a hard time convincing Rosa of that. “ _ Anyways _ , I work tonight so we should be getting back soon. Did you want to stop anywhere else?”

Rosa declared that she wanted to stop by Shiro’s place and interrogate him, but that wasn’t in the cards so she drove them back home where Lance hiked his Boston Store bag over his shoulder and hurried onto the next bus heading towards his apartment. 

On the bus, Lance bent over and unlaced his boots. He slipped on the pair of black heels, and tucked his grey jeans around them with a smile on his face. Even when the old man across from him gave him a weird look, Lance went on beaming, swaying his knees to the song playing in his earbuds. He tossed his boots into his bag before leaving the bus, twirling out onto the sidewalk, reveling in his new height with a bounce in his step.

Lance started the walk back to his place with an energy that faded one block in. He started by thinking, “Wow, this isn’t so bad,” which swiftly turned into, “Is it  _ supposed _ to feel like my tibia is a metal rod shoving through the heel of my feet?” That pressure shoved its way into the arch of his feet, but he trudged onward, practically collapsing down the stairs of his apartment before staggering to his futon. 

He collapsed with a flurry of curses, unzipping and kicking his heels off. “ _ Fuck _ , ow—ow, ow,  _ ow _ …!” he moaned, digging his thumbs into the arch of his foot with a wince. “How does Keith  _ walk _ in these?” he whined, and gingerly stood back up. Walking barefoot felt like his feet were wound up in tight, uncomfortable gauze. 

It was nearly three in the afternoon now. He had to work at five. Lance looked at his feet again and cursed, wondering when he would ever get the chance to practice without ruining his efforts at work. 

Lance gave up his effort to eat, and instead collapsed on his futon with a moan. “ _ Fuck this… _ ” he sighed into the cushions, tucking his arms under his head before realizing that he was still wearing Shiro’s jacket. He closed his eyes against it, and let out a light, muffled laugh. 

He loved his new jacket.

 

. . .

 

“Is… that my jacket?” That was the first thing out of Shiro’s mouth when Lance strolled into the side door of the club that led to the back of the bar. 

Lance paused, his first gut reaction sending him into a dramatic pose that had Shiro, and the other bartender laughing. They were setting up inventory for the night when Lance walked and leant up against the countertop. “You want your jacket back?”

“Did you bring another one with you?”

“... No.”

“Then keep it for now,” Shiro laughed, scooping cherries into the small bar dishes he then sat in their little carousels. “It’s  _ November _ .”

“ _ You’re _ the one who left my place without it!”

Shiro made a face, sticking his tongue out as he turned away, muttering, “That was  _ before _ you started working here. I figured you’d have no other reason to contact me except to return my jacket.”

Lance’s jaw dropped, and he dissolved into a fit of giggles on the bar. Shiro pouted at Lance as he said, “Sorry for ruining all of your romantic intentions.”

The other bartender wandered over with a crate full of empty wine bottles. Lance hadn’t met him before, let alone  _ seen _ him. He was a younger fellow—likely Shiro’s same age—with dyed grey hair and a blatantly obvious British accent when he said, “This the new guy?”

Lance stretched an arm across the bar as the bartender set the crate down to shake his hand. Just as Lance was about to introduce himself, Shiro did the favor. “Alfor, this is Lance. Lance, meet Alfor.”

“Nice to meet you,” they both said at the same time, and they both laughed.

Alfor tipped his head to the side and said, “I heard you just started working yesterday.”

“That would be correct,” Lance said, beaming. “I’ll be the best goddamn waiter you’ve ever seen.”

“God bless,” Alfor laughed, hefting the crate up again and ducking through the back door. “Nice to meet you, Lance!” 

“Nice to meet you too!” he called back. When Alfor was gone, Lance turned back to Shiro and said, “What a lovely guy. Is he British?”

“Yeah, but I have no fucking clue how he found himself in Chicago. I don’t even think he has family here.”

“What a mystery,” Lance hummed. He shrugged Shiro’s coat off and said, “So… where do I put my shit during work hours?”

Shiro took Lance to the back where they kept extra supplies, and a closet for coats and winter boots when snow would start to fall. Shiro showed Lance around the back room, where to find extra napkins, how to fold them, where extra glasses were kept, and all of those  _ boring details _ . Lance didn’t mind it, though, especially when Shiro was there to explain it all to him. He was eager for approval, and he hoped that at some point tonight, Shiro would give that to him.

When they emerged from the back room, music was playing, and Lance’s heart hummed to the sound of Gloria Gaynor on the speakers with Lotor’s voice commanding the routine. Shiro hesitated with Lance to watch the dancers—all men, except for that white-haired woman Lance swooned over the day before.

“You know Allura,” Shiro said, pointing to her as Lance nodded quickly, watching as she was approached by two men on either side. “On the left—Ulaz. He’s been here for a year or so. He came on around the same time Keith did.”

Ulaz was a dark-skinned, black-haired man with piercings all over both ears. His beard was cut close, sharp, and defined his incredible cheekbone and jawline. “Not too long then?” Lance asked, distracted, and Shiro shrugged.

“We don’t get too many newbies, so yeah, not too long then,” he replied. “On the right, that’s—” Lance’s attention zoomed in on the movement of Shiro’s lips around the words that Lance completely forgot about. Shiro’s voice was suddenly the most attractive thing Lance had ever heard—Gloria Gaynor be damned. “—So yeah. That’s the whole team.”

“Hm? Oh, nice. Yeah, they’re all so incredible,” Lance blurted out, voice a mere squeak as he turned away from Shiro, cheeks flushing as the music started over.

That night, when Lance was hurrying between tables, he found himself mesmerized by Allura’s lip syncing. She was always on beat, and if it weren’t for the fact that the band on the side wasn’t playing, Lance would have been  _ certain _ that she was singing every word of “ _[At](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZBR2G-iI3-I) first I was afraid—I was petrified!—I kept thinkin’ I could never live without you by my side—!_ ”

The guys on stage ripped their buttoned shirts off from between the straps of their suspenders, movements pulsing with the stage rising up from underneath Allura. She beat her heels on the floor, hands up, screaming, “ _ And so you’re back—! from outer space! I just walked in to find you here without that look upon your face!”  _

She clutched at the air, drawing her fists to her heart as Lance pulled empty bottles from the tables, distracted by the glitter in Allura’s hair, and the glamor of her dress as it curved and cut and exposed her stomach and sides to the spotlights. 

She twirled on the platform, stomping her foot and throwing her arms out with the words, “ _ Oh not I! I will survive! _ ”

Lance disappeared into the back room to grab extra napkins for the bar, Allura’s routine kicking into gear instantly. He broke out into the song humming through the walls of that back room, feet crossing, twisting, hands out as he synchronized his movements to the lyrics. He spun and picked up a packet of napkins, and schooled his expression when the back room door opened. 

Alfor stood there, equally as startled to find Lance there as Lance was to be caught. Alfor laughed and said, “By all means, continue.”

Lance scoffed at him, walking past as he said, “Let’s pretend that never happened.”

“ _ Excellent _ first impression,” Alfor teased, and Lance giggled as he tore into the napkin bag and headed back to where Shiro took the packet and hurried him off with another tray of drinks for table six.

Allura’s number faded straight into another upbeat track that featuring the only other man Lance remembered the name of in Shiro’s introduction tour. The second the music shifted, someone threw Ulaz a jacket, a hat, and Allura leapt out from behind the descending column in the stage wearing the uniform. 

Their feet leapt together, hands clasping together as Ulaz claimed her fake microphone. Lance hummed the lyrics to himself as he delivered drinks, took orders, and tried  _ desperately _ to stay on task. That was so incredibly difficult to do, especially when he was closer to the stage, close enough to hear the heels of their shoes on the wood, tapping to the rhythm of Billy Joel. 

When Lance made it back to the bar, he said to Alfor, “Whoever comes up with these tracks has an  _ excellent _ taste in music.”

“That would be Lotor,” he said. “Lotor comes up with all of the routines. Well, for the most part.”

“That’s—” Lance started, interrupted by a customer asking where the bathroom was. When he returned back to the conversation, Alfor was gone, taking someone else’s order and leaving Lance to clean dishes away from peoples’ tables.

After Ulaz and Allura’s number, there was a break between song performances. Two women stepped up onto the stage, dressed in decorative lingerie with garter pins clipped to their undergarments. They brought with them one of the male dancers, tugging him along by his tie like it was a leash. The music was bouncy, carnivalesque, imitating the dramatic makeup on the contortionists faces.

Lance was interrupted at the bar by Shiro calling out, “Narti! What are you doing here?”

Lance turned instantly, recognizing the name from all of the mentions of Lotor’s long term girlfriend. Sure, there were legends of the infamous former-dancer, but Lance had yet to see her face-to-face. 

When he turned in search of her, hearing her voice above the crowds at the bar, he spied her standing in front of Lotor, who guided her into one of the empty bar stools with a smile. He leant an arm across the back of her chair, leaning his other hand on the bar as Narti said, “It’s been some time, huh Shiro?”

“Tell me about it. How are things?” he asked.

“Better. No longer under house arrest, so I’d say things are looking up,” she said, ducking her head towards Lotor. Her hair was buoyant and tinged at the ends with purple streaks. Her eyes were partially obscured by her longer, straight bangs, and her smile emphasized her rounded cheeks that were tinged red. 

Lance observed from afar as Alfor plucked dirty glasses off of Lance’s tray. He watched the way Lotor navigated her hand to the glass of soda Shiro pushed forward, and lifted the straw to her lips. “He’s sweet on her, huh?” Lance asked Alfor.

“Who? Lotor? Oh yeah,” he said, grinning as Lance sighed dreamily at the sight of those two down the bar from him. 

“Why did Narti ever stop dancing? She’s so  _ beautiful _ ,” Lance asked. “Shiro said there was an accident or something. Did she injure herself?”

Alfor hesitated for a moment, clearing his throat before saying, “Well… she… recently went blind.” Lance’s eyes went wide, jaw dropping as Alfor said, “ _ Yeah _ . It wasn’t all that much of a surprise, either. Her entire family has shit eyesight—macular degeneration, actually.”

“That’s…”

“Shit luck? I know. Table fourteen.” 

Lance attempted to recover from the news as he passed the drinks on to the tables. He couldn’t stop looking at Narti and Lotor up at the bar, which was striking considering how frequently he found himself enraptured by the stage. Only… now he wondered what Narti must have been capable of before her sight was taken from her. Shiro had mentioned that she could sing…

“Narti!” someone shouted from near the stage, hurrying between the tables, completely in costume for another number. Lance’s heart leapt in his throat as he crossed paths with Allura, and felt her fluffy white hair brush his soul and forgive him of his sins.

He tried to slow down his beating heart. Why did it feel like Beyoncé just descended from the stars and kissed his cheek? He turned away from the table he was at to fan himself before hurrying to pick up someone’s check from a table and bring it to the bar where Alfor charged it and handed the receipt and card back to Lance. As he waited for the transaction, though, he looked back at where Allura was hugging and kissing Narti repeatedly on the cheeks. 

The contortionists on stage were closing up their act with a series of laughter from the crowd before taking a dramatic bow that sent their bums in the air, heads tipping upside down between their legs as they waved to the crowd. 

The lights dimmed, and Lotor hushed Narti and Allura at the bar. “The next act is starting,” Lotor whispered. “Keith set up something for you two.”

“Oh? For us?” Allura repeated, taken aback as she leant against the bar and hummed, “This oughta be good.”

Lance hesitated at the sound of a piano lulling in the background—clear and precise where a spotlight drew towards the band. Someone was at the piano, pulling in the dancers from where they hid behind beaded curtains. Their silhouettes became vivid the instant the blue light caught on them, and held fast when Beyoncé’s voice sang through the speakers to the movement of Keith’s lips around the words.

“ _[Sometimes…](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gSsMhQv6KZ8) these walls seem to cave into me… When I look in your eyes… I feel alive… _ ” Keith twisted a the other man on stage, tipping him back, pulling the sunhat away from the man’s eyes.

A gasp resonated through Allura instantly as Narti whispered, “This is our song…”

“It’s Matt—oh my God, Matt’s back, and Keith and Matt are dancing to our song,” Allura told her, clutching to her hands as Lance felt a warm chill drip through him, so unbearably hot that he turned cold at the sound of his Queen’s voice coming out of Keith’s mouth.

Lance would be lying if he said he didn’t cry at nearly every one of Beyoncé’s songs, but usually he had the restraint to avoid it. But how could he possibly cope, especially with Keith up there dancing to  _ Blue? _

“ _ Come on baby won’t you hold onto me… Hold onto me… _ ” 

The blue light highlighted the glitter on their outfits as they spun together, hips curving together with Keith’s arms around Matt’s waist. He lulled them in sync with the piano as Beyoncé’s voice faded off to the instrumentals. Lance’s eyes focused on the white stockings pulling up their legs, the white heels, the blue accents to their chest pieces… The curve of Keith’s body fluid with Matt’s… 

They were so beautifully coordinated, the emotion in the song resonating in their locked eyes. Lance swallowed hard from where he stood behind all of the tables. He wished desperately to be in Matt’s place, if only to bask in the blue light of how perfect Keith was at commanding attention. 

Matt crossed Keith’s arms in front of him, falling into step behind Keith as they swayed, knees dipping. They hugged close as Matt’s hands dipped between Keith’s, passing over the stomach of Keith’s uniform. Lance could hear Allura whispering to Narti about the performance, hardly having to elaborate considering they had done the same routine dozens of times before. The image was likely still fresh in Narti’s memory from the position of Keith in the number, tipping their heads back against Matt and Allura’s shoulder to the lyrics.

Lance could see how this was intended to be a vocal performance. They kept to center stage, migrating only sparingly. The music shifted, stretching into long notes and violin chords as they danced around one another, separating into coinciding steps. They watched one another as their stances looped, crested, and delved into a rendition of balette Lance had never seen done in  _ heels _ of all things. Their legs arced, hands going out before clutching to their chests for a hard spin that they held for several seconds in the increasing pressure of the music. 

Yellow light rose up from the edges of the stage. They drifted together again, finished the song with another twirl before Keith rested in Matt’s arms.

“Fuck,” Lance breathed beneath the roar of applause through the club, and the sobbing at the bar where Allura broke down into tears, dabbing her makeup with a bar napkin Shiro handed to her. 

Lance turned his attention back to the stage, and couldn’t stop himself from blatantly staring at Keith as he clasped onto Matt and urged them both to bow. He swore he’d never seen a prettier man in his entirely life—sure, Shiro was handsome, but Keith was  _ definitely _ pretty. There was no doubting his soft black hair, trimmed brows, and way his stage makeup made it look like his eyes were glittering. Lance’s chest seized up as Keith made his exit, wondering if he would ever get the chance to dance with that man. 

As Keith disappeared behind the beaded curtains in the far back, Matt hollered his triumph, only to be smothered by the other dances backstage yelling, “I  _ knew _ there was something suspicious about the guy who walked back here wearing a hoodie!”

Keith rolled his eyes, but was promptly tackled by Zethrid squeezing them all together in a group hug. She grabbed Thace, who just happened to be passing by, by the collar and thrust him into the group alongside Ezor and Acxa. “The gang’s  _ back _ , bitches!” Zethrid yelled.

“Language! Language, ladies!” Coran chastised as he wandered over from behind a clothing rack. 

Thace reached out and pulled him in, saying, “If I have no say in this, neither do you.”

Coran grumbled sourly before muttering, “Nice to have you back, Matthew.”

Matt laughed and pressed his stubbly cheek to Keith’s, saying, “Nice to  _ be _ back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fight us. I dare you.
> 
> Mogi: [thespace-dragon](http://thespace-dragon.tumblr.com/)  
> Sarah: [girlskylark](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/)


	4. {we had arrived}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith is a caffeine addict and salty all the fucking time. He needs to go on a low sodium diet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey hey! We are back :D if you havent noticed, we are trying to update on a regular schedule, so about every weekend we should be updating this fic (schedules willing and technology able) so yeah here's the chap, have fun xD

When Keith emerged from the back room with Matt in tow, they wove through the tables in search of Allura and Narti at the bar. They were easy to spot, but it was difficult getting past the customers complimenting their routine. Keith found it weird being out on the floor during a performance—he rarely ever left backstage, especially during hours. But with Matt hauling him through by the hand, he didn’t really have a say in the matter.

On the way there, Keith caught the gaze of one of the waiters, and felt the saliva in his mouth turn to salt on his tongue. He’d only ever noticed the man from where he frequently stood talking to Shiro at the bar, and that made it difficult for him to see who, exactly, was capable of stealing his ex’s heart.

Keith hesitated between two tables when Shiro’s new _toy_ stared back. The guy’s jaw dropped for a split second before turning into a full-blown smile that had Keith cringing and turning away. He hurried after Matt to avoid an awful conversation with the guy his ex hung around.

“Matt! Oh my God that was _amazing_!” Allura perked up the second she saw them coming. Matt dropped into a bow that had Keith staggering to the side to avoid it, but that just made him clumsier when Allura squeezed him into a bone-crushing hug. His heels wobbled awkwardly as she dropped him to tackle Matt next.

Keith staggered away and towards Narti, being sure to stay on the opposite side of where Lotor sat. “It was Matt’s idea,” Keith whispered to her, and grinned as her hands flew to his arm, grappling for his hand as he laughed. “How are you?”

“Perfect! Keith—you are incredible I’m so happy you and Matt did this for us,” she said, and Keith stretched his free arm around to squeeze her by the shoulders. “Really! Have I ever said how much I absolutely _love you_?”

“Once or twice,” he laughed, leaning his head against hers. He turned to watch the dancers on stage as Allura fawned over Matt, who blushed furiously with his hands on his hips, as if saying, _“Oh, yes, do compliment me more.”_ Keith shook his head and described the scene to Narti, who laughed behind her hand, so Matt wouldn’t have a reason to accuse her of making fun of him.

He saw Shiro’s toy again, and pointedly turned away as he noticed that the guy was heading towards him. He cringed as the guy slid in between him and the chair beside him, saying to Alfor, “Whiskey old fashioned, please! And another brandy alexander.”

“On it,” Alfor declared, and Keith fizzled into his silent anger, trying to talk casually to Narti about the performance while Lance glistened with excitement over having brushed elbows with the best dancer on stage.

Lance looked over at Keith’s profile, and blushed at the gracefully intense planes of his face, pouting and broody, being everything absolutely _adorable_. Lance’s wide eyes caught on Shiro glancing in their direction, and he beamed and pointed discretely to Keith. Shiro raised an eyebrow at him before Alfor came over with the whiskey old fashioned.

Alfor glanced at Keith, and back at Lance.

Lance beamed at him and looked at Keith again, and back at Alfor.

Alfor cleared his throat. “Hey Keith,” he said, leaning against the bar as Lance resisted the urge to do a victory dance. “Have you met Lance yet? He’s our new waiter.”

Keith twisted around to look at Alfor, and then sparingly at Lance. “No, I haven’t.”

When he didn’t add on to it, Lance blurted something out—anything—to fill the silence. “You’re incredible on stage. How long have you been dancing?”

“Since I was eight,” he said. “Fourteen years. Do the math yourself.”

Keith pushed off of the counter, saying, “I’ll talk to you later Narti.” Lance’s smile turned into a scowl, and he raised his eyebrows at Alfor, whose jaw was practically on the counter. From beside them, Narti gave a short laugh, cupping her hand over her mouth as she twisted around in her stool to face the bar again.

“Something’s got his thong twisted in a knot,” she said, and Lance was so shocked that he snorted before he could stop himself. Alfor clapped his hands on the counter and laughed. “Sorry! Oh God, that was inappropriate. You said your name was Lance? Narti, I’m the owner’s girlfriend.”

“Nice to meet you Narti,” he said, offering her a nudge on the shoulder. “So, um, I hear that you’re a singer?”

“Yeah, I am. Been singing since I could. My mother was a performer,” she explained. “She used to sing in musicals and such. Classics, like _Sound of Music_ or _West Side Story_.”

“What about you?”

“Oh yeah, all through high school.”

“I used to be in a lot of musicals, too,” he confessed, sighing nostalgically. “I’d love to hear you sing some time.”

“I haven’t been singing much lately. I used to perform here, actually, but after everything… _Lotor_ still has yet to find someone to _replace me_ ,” she said accusingly, raising her voice so her boyfriend could hear from where he cringed in the seat beside her. He sputtered on his drink and coughed, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth as Narti reached out to slap him on the arm. “When’re you gonna start lookin’, huh?”

“ _Narti!_ ” he whined, blushing as Lance perked up, raising his eyebrows at his boss.

“Yes, I would like to know also,” Lance said sharply, grinning at Lotor, who turned to scowl at his girlfriend.

“Auditions aren’t for another two weeks—I’m working on it!” he insisted as Narti gave him another slap on the arm. Lance’s insides buzzed with excitement, and he yelped in triumph the second he left Narti and Lotor alone at the bar. He hurried off with the two drinks Alfor made for him, and promised himself that he’d work himself to the bone to get on top of all of the competition rehearsals were bound to bring.

* * *

Lance may have passed out the second he got home from work that Saturday, but first thing in the morning, he was strapping on high heels and swearing that his feet would suck it up and get with the program. The program was, well, _ruthless_ and idiotic, and potentially _dangerous_ , but Lance was going to get this shit done whether he wanted to or not.

The night before, he spent each performance looking in between tables and customers to the stage where he memorized the movements to the Blue Routine by Matt and Keith, to Ulaz’s Uptown Girl Routine, and Allura’s Moonbeam Sequence. After sleeping on them, he was afraid to forget them, and so he set up his phone to record them as he danced in the middle of his living room, the music pulsing through his speakers, and the strangers outside his windows raising their eyebrows at him until he finally yanked the tapestry off one of the walls to string it over his windows. He didn’t need strangers lingering around his space like that.

Lance made breakfast every morning in the same fashion as the last—he tested the weight of his body on his heels and sashayed to and fro from the island counter to the stovetop. His hips dipped low as he stretched the flexibility of his thighs as he parted his knees and swirled his ass back up to Fifth Harmony. He wasn’t exactly one for club dancing, but Keith convinced him that it was _totally_ fucking Worth It.

Afternoons consisted of sexy dancing to the classics, summoning his Inner Allura to drape himself across the coffee table and pretend that he _definitely_ wasn’t wearing the # _Booty_ shirt he and Shiro giggled over at five in the morning.

Lance’s mornings started earlier than he would have liked, especially on Monday when he really should have slept in—Downtown Daibazaal was closed Mondays and Tuesdays, and while all of the dancers would be practicing for the next week’s performances, Lance and the other floor workers wouldn’t have to worry about cleaning in the afternoons.

His mornings consisted of slowly waking to the sound of something drilling through the wall. He squinted past his pillow with a groan, and twisted over with his blanket over his head as his neighbor’s blender went into hyper speed and screamed into his ears at five-in-the-fucking-morning. It reminded him of how his brother used to go on _runs in the morning_ and would make protein shakes ten minutes before Lance’s alarm usually went off.

So, Lance was forced to get up by six after powering through shallow sleep for an hour. He tested his sore feet on the floor and promised himself an hour of no-heels before breaking them out again with a sigh. “Can’t give in now,” he told himself, shuffling his Downtown Daibazaal playlist after adding to it from the night before.

He recorded the performances he remembered, but there was no way he could go on like this and expect to memorize the routines. He dug into his closet and pulled out the floor-length mirror so that he could see himself properly and decide where his movements were lacking or incohesive with the rest of him. _If only I could control my body like Keith does his_ , he mused miserably. He always considered himself a good dancer, but compared to Keith? Not anymore.

At some point that morning, Lance was in the middle of Zethrid, Acxa, and Ezor’s _Slow Down Baby_ dance, the words raspy from Lance’s morning voice. In the midst of it, heavy knocking sounded on his apartment door. He winced, turning down the volume with his phone.

 _This is what you get for blasting Gwen Stefani_ , he told himself as he hurried up the steps to the door.

He checked in the peephole and pulled away instantly, heart drumming in his chest. _Shiro?_ He schooled his expression, fanning himself in hopes of getting the pink out of his cheeks from dancing all morning.

He undid the locks on the door and pulled it open, letting in the November chill as Shiro tilted his head to see inside, and see Lance standing there in a loose tank top and short shorts and _fuck_. Everything about Shiro just had Lance’s body on fire as he squeaked, “Hey! What, um, what’s up?”

Shiro leant back and cleared his throat, suddenly looking embarrassed to have shown up like this. “Well… I gave you my number, but you never ended up… you know.”

Lance’s eyes went wide, and he pinched a hand over his lip as he cursed, “ _Shit_ , oh my God, I meant to text you, I swear! I’m so sorry!”

“It’s fine—Don’t worry about it—”

“Oh my God—”

“Lance, it’s fine,” Shiro laughed, waving his hand dismissively. The action just put emphasis on the fact that he came with an offering. Lance pointed to the bag in his hand, and Shiro said, “I got us donuts on the way here. If you’d like some, I mean? I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“No! No, of course not. Come in, it’s chilly out,” Lance said, grabbing Shiro by the end of his deflated sleeve and tugging him into the apartment. “And maybe now I can give your jacket back.”

“It _is_ one of my favorites…” Shiro confessed, noting the tapestry now hanging from the windows as he wandered over to the futon and collapsed. Lance saw him look skeptically at the mirror standing between the futon and the kitchen, but didn’t ask why until he heard Lance’s heels clicking across the apartment to grab plates for them. “Practicing?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah…” Lance droned, looking down at his feet and kicking out one of his heels. “My sister helped me pick out the heels.”

“I _thought_ you looked taller,” Shiro laughed, tossing his arm over the couch and reaching into the donut bag as Lance returned with plates. “How’re your feet holding up? I noticed you limping a little at work yesterday.”

“ _Awful_. It feels like I have rubber balls stuck to my heels. I swear it’s worse today,” he confessed, tugging at the backs of his shoes.

“The dancers call it a Heel Hangover,” Shiro said. “It happens frequently.”

“Wow, _that’s_ reassuring,” Lance said sarcastically. “You don’t… happen to know any remedies?”

“Aside from soaking them or a massage? Not really,” he confessed, tipping his head back against the cushions. “It’s always worse the day after.”

“And you would know this _how_ , exactly? The dancers?”

“I’ve worn heels before,” he insisted, and it just made Lance laugh. “I’m serious!”

“As if you aren’t tall enough,” Lance laughed, nudging Shiro with his elbow before digging into the bag and plucking out a chocolate donut covered in sprinkles. “Were you… a dancer before? I can’t think of any other reason for you to wear heels.”

“No, not really,” he confessed. “When I came to Downtown, I actually… helped choreograph some of the numbers. Lotor mentored me for a while, but before that and before _everything else_ … I used to teach little kids ballet and stuff like that.”

“What?” Lance blurted out, stunned into silence as Shiro shrugged and took a bite of his donut. Lance tried to recover his train of thought, but it dove straight off the cliff into the image of _Shiro dancing_. “You _dance?_ ”

“Not anymore—I just… I mean, _sometimes_. I still help choreograph a lot of the numbers. I’m usually who Lotor goes to if he’s stuck or something. Other than that, I just linger now. I used to do a lot more, but since I started bartending full-time… not so much anymore.”

“Holy… _shit!_ Dude, so do you, like, know all of the dances and stuff?” Lance asked, and ignored the raised eyebrow Shiro gave him when he lunged up from the couch, trying to explain himself through vague gestures and lunging motions before saying, “You know?”

“Um, what?”

“Can you tell me if I’ve got the dances, right? I’ve just been going off of memory, you know,” Lance said. Shiro raised an eyebrow at him, looking more or less dumbfounded. “What?”

“You’re trying to _memorize_ the routines,” he repeated.

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“Lance—you can’t memorize all of the routines in two weeks,” Shiro insisted.

All Lance did was glare at him, grab his phone, and shuffle the playlist. He tossed his phone onto the couch beside Shiro, who watched as Lance turned away, shaking out his hands, and preparing for the vocals when his hips dipped slowly to Amy Winehouse crooning, “ _He… left no time—to regret…_ ”

He turned, hands following the tracks of Acxa’s hands dipping towards her groin where Lance’s hips then rolled, one leg kicking out and setting the course of the rest of the number of _Back To Black._ Shiro sat through every second of it, eyes still just as wide as they were when Lance started the dance. It was difficult, seeing as this was a group number, but Lance managed, using the mirror as the stand for Acxa dancing against Ezor on the stage. He twirled and lunged his leg out, head knocking back as he crossed the apartment fast, leaping, and sticking the landing despite all the other times he practiced his jumps and nearly twisted his ankle in the heels. The landing did a number to the pain already blossoming in Lance’s heels, but he survived.

When he stuck the landing and dropped to his knees for the final sequence, he stole a look over at where Shiro had his hand over his mouth. He was so amused by it that he started laughing, and couldn’t finish the dance. “Y-Your f-face!” he cried out, falling onto his back as Shiro threw his hand down furiously.

“I can’t help it! You know how many times the dancers actually _fall_ during practices?” he demanded. “You could’ve hurt yourself—”

“Oh _boohoo_ ,” Lance giggled. He tucked a knee to his chest, drawing his long, brown leg up straight, pointing his toes as best he could. Lance dragged his hand down his freshly shaven leg and said, “Aw, you lookin’ out for me?”

“I’m serious, Lance. How many times have you fallen since practicing?” Shiro demanded, and Lance frowned up at him as he dropped his leg, _very_ conscious of a bruise he still had on his knee from the day before. “The rehearsals won’t be in heels, either. Make sure you practice all of these without them before you get too ahead of yourself.”

“But—!”

“Coran—he oversees all of the performances—always asks the dancers afterwards if they’ve ever danced in heels before. Lotor’s more likely to pick dancers who have a background in it,” Shiro explained as Lance got onto his knees, pouting from the floor as Shiro pulled out another donut for him. He took it, and nibbled absently on it. “Lance, don’t get ahead of yourself. I don’t want you to break an ankle on this, okay? And let your feet recover from yesterday.”

Lance stuffed the donut in his mouth so he didn’t have to answer. He shut off the music and went to pout beside Shiro on the futon. Pouting on the futon very quickly turned into Shiro offering him a guilty foot rub, which was a mistake on both of their parts.

The second Shiro started pushing the pad of his thumb against the balls of Lance’s feet, Lance was certain that he was about to die. He expected it to feel like heaven, but it felt more like Shiro was drilling nails into his feet for a solid minute before Lance succumbed to the weirdly pliant feeling Shiro’s massage was giving his feet.

Lance tipped his head back and moaned ridiculous loud. Shiro flinched, hand halting where it was until Lance groaned, “ _Don’t stop_ …! Mm, _Shiro.”_

“I swear to God I will leave this apartment if you keep that up,” Shiro remarked, and so Lance shut up. For the most part.

Shiro stopped after Lance started moaning and groaning and being a general nuisance to the well-being of both of their sanities. Lance kept his feet on Shiro’s lap and finished off his second donut before deciding that he spent enough time lounging around to set him back on his productivity.

Lance absently flipped through the songs. He watched for Shiro’s expression, judging the songs based on what he seemed to recognize the most. Shiro glanced down at Lance as another Gwen Stefani song came on, and then Rihanna, and—

Lance grinned devilishly, and just as Shiro was about to object to whatever Lance was planning, he lunged up from the couch just as Fifth Harmony’s vocals kicked up alongside the saxophone.

Lance threw his imaginary hat like Keith did, and Shiro groaned from the couch, “Come on, Lance…”

“No, _you_ come on! I haven’t been able to figure out how the fuck Keith dances. It’s like—it’s like he’s got this knack for controlling his body that I’ve never _seen_ before!” he exclaimed, panting from the exertion when he dropped to his knees and—

Shiro cut the music.

“Aw…!” Lance whined, tipping to the side and collapsing on the wood flooring.

“Don’t… do any of Keith’s routines. Lotor and Coran won’t be asking for those ones,” Shiro said, grimacing even as he said it.

“But I have to practice if I’m gonna get his dance style down! What am I doing wrong?” he demanded, standing up and pegging Shiro with a scowl. Shiro stared him down for a second before his gaze flickered away, pursing his lips into a furious pout. “Shiro, come on. And how the fuck does he _pole dance_? You know, in the _Vibe_ dance?”

“Lance…”

“Do all of the dancers pole dance? Shit, I should sign up for pole dancing classes…” he moaned miserably, dragging his hands down his face.

“No, Lance. Only a few of the dancers pole dance,” Shiro reassured him, waving his hand dismissively. “And before this Keith worked at a gay strip club so he has a different set of techniques from the other dancers.”

Lance stopped what he was doing, the tension in his shoulders slackening as he said, “You’re kidding. Holy fuck, you’re not kidding. That explains so much! He’s so fucking flawless I can’t _deal with this level of sexiness_. Shiro, save me, this will be the last you see of me…!”

Lance dramatically kicked a leg out, and performed a death drop that had Shiro laughing. Lance moaned on the ground, whining about how he’d never done that in heels. He rubbed at his bum as Shiro got up to help Lance to his feet.

“As I said, don’t get too ahead of yourself,” Shiro laughed. “I’ll help you with all of the other dances. Save Keith’s contemporary routines for later.”

Lance hurriedly agreed to it because he wasn’t exactly in the position to be making the deals. They shook on it, and after promising Shiro an hour break, they got back to work when Lance going through the routines he knew, and Shiro critiquing and adjusting everything he could given the time frame.

The next day, Shiro forced Lance to calm down for a second and let his feet recover. Since he couldn’t exactly force Lance to stop dancing several blocks over, he stuck around Lance’s apartment and put on movie after movie so Lance couldn’t be distracted by the Downtown routines calling in the distance. He grudgingly sat through it all, but… watching movies with Shiro sure beat watching movies alone. When Lance tried to huddle up against Shiro’s side, Shiro swatted the side of his head and said, “Nope—focus on the movie.”

“You’re no fun anymore…” Lance moaned, slumping against Shiro anyways until the man forcefully wedged a pillow between them. Lance took to cuddling that instead, and it didn’t seem to mind Shiro _as much_.

* * *

Before every shift at Downtown Daibazaal, Lance walked to Shiro’s apartment for practice. Shiro taught him the dances to routines Lance had yet to see, and Lance did everything he could to keep his feet from falling off. Shiro consulted one of the dancers and sent Lance a shopping list that took him to a cosmetic store where he bought moisturizer for his feet, and bath cream to exfoliate the heels of his feet. If he let calluses build up, the pressure points on his feet would pierce nails up his legs when he would dance.

Lance could barely stand walking to Downtown Daibazaal after practicing, which sent him wrapping a scarf around his neck and mouth in preparation for braving the cold on his bicycle. Every time he hopped off his bike and chained it to the back-fire escape, he’d run into one of the dancers out smoking, saying, “You _really_ shouldn’t be biking in this weather.”

“Haven’t gotten frost burn yet,” he always told them, but his red cheeks said otherwise.

His eyes always watered from the cold, though. He’d come into the club before his shift started and stand in the restroom until his eyes and nose were back to normal. Shiro always glared at him from behind the bar, and Lance would slump into one of the chairs and order a hot chocolate. If Alfor was working the afternoon shift, he would already have the mug sitting out for Lance.

“I am not encouraging this like Alfor does,” Shiro accused as he stirred the coca powder into hot milk.

“This is _my_ Friday night and I want some hot chocolate, dammit,” Lance insisted. He glared Shiro down as he chugged half of his hot chocolate. Shiro leant against the countertop, challengingly, and Lance couldn’t resist a challenge. As he finished up his drink (feeling like a rock was slowly making its way down his esophagus) they were interrupted by Rolo meandering in and tossing his winter coat over the back of the chair beside Lance.

“Why did I ever decide to live in _Chicago_ during the _winter_ ,” Rolo complained, sniffing as he collapsed into the chair.

“I don’t really mind the cold,” Shiro confessed.

“The cold can _suck my ass_ ,” Lance said, twisting around in his stool to leap back onto the floor as Rolo cackled beside him. They set to work cleaning the floor from the night before—mopping up spills that they didn’t catch during closing, fixing up the centers on the tables, rubbing down all of the chairs, et cetera. Every afternoon shift started like this, and ended with elegant customers paying the entry fee to watch Allura, Keith, and Zethrid kick ass and take names all while Lance swooned by the bar, saying, “I want to dance with them _so badly…_ ”

Shiro slid a tray of drinks over and said, “One more week. Until then, _please_ stay on track.”

Lance saluted him, and only hoped that he had enough self-control to stop himself from jumping straight onto that stage to do the routines himself.

* * *

 “Thanks for picking me up,” Keith said as he dropped down into the passenger’s seat of Matt’s car. He noticed that there was someone crouched in the back, and twisted around to ruffle Matt’s sister’s head. “Hey Pidge.”

“We’re going to the lab first,” she said pointedly, and Keith gasped accusingly, exclaiming, “But coffee—!”

“Pidge’s orders,” Matt said. “I promised to drive her to class, too.”

“Beats taking the bus,” she said. “And this way I get to see my boy Keith.”

Keith rolled his eyes and said, “Love you too, Pidge.”

“How is everything, though?” she asked. “Matt says Shiro’s bring an ass again, but he’s too much of a wimp to confront him.”

Keith’s jaw dropped, and he stared accusingly at Matt as he pulled out of the alley behind Keith’s apartment complex. Matt winced, saying, “She bullied me into telling her about it.”

“I’m sure she did,” Keith snorted, unconvinced. “And it’s not his fault. If he wants to date someone else, he can. It’s not like I have any say in it now anyways.”

“You want me to break his jaw for you next time I see him?” Pidge asked, slapping her fist into her opposite hand.

“No, Pidge…” he sighed.

“But I mean—! Who is this guy anyways? He can’t possibly be hotter than you,” she said, slumping in defeat.

Matt hummed thoughtfully. “She _does_ have a point…”

“I didn’t get a good look at him,” Keith said, but that wasn’t entirely true. He had been close enough to see the contrast of Lance’s blue eyes against his brown skin. He could tell from the guy’s cute button nose and short, curling brown hair that he was completely different from Keith. Perhaps Shiro was trying to find someone completely different from Keith so that they couldn’t be mistaken.

But it was difficult for Keith to deny just how beautiful Lance was. It just made him self-conscious of his own appearances. Was there something wrong with him that Shiro never had the guts to say? His brain had been filled with those sorts of questions since their breakup, which just made him notice every tick of his that could piss off a potential significant other.

Was it because he had no concept of personal space? Was it because he constantly tended to talk like they were in a library instead of a club? Was it because, given the chance, his independence shattered, and his dependence was thrust on whoever he lived with? His poor diet? His excessive coffee-drinking? His insomnia, his anxiety, his microscopic sense of self-worth?

Matt caught him scratching at his already-red wrists, and Pidge cackled from the back, “ _Gay!_ ”

“Oh, shut up,” Matt laughed, reaching back to slap his sister’s leg. “You want me to dump you on the streets here?”

“No way!” she cried out. “What’s so bad about being _gay, Matt?_ Huh?”

“I can’t believe you put up with this,” Keith laughed, turning around to peg Pidge with a glare. “And who are _you_ to complain about this, huh? Miss _Lesbian_?”

Pidge clasped a hand to her heart, mouth falling open as Keith flipped her off and said, “Boys are better.”

“Girls are mature, intelligent _goddesses_ ,” she snapped.

“She’s right about that,” Matt said.

“You’re straight! _Bias_ is a thing, you know,” Keith remarked as the car jostled over the speed bump going into one of the university parking lots. Pidge hurried out of the car as Keith shouted after her, “I’m not done with this argument! _Pidge!_ ”

“Sorry! Gotta get to class!” she said, hefting her backpack onto her shoulders as she jogged to the sidewalk and waved obnoxiously to them as they backed out of the parking lot. She tugged on the skin under her eye, sticking her tongue out at Keith.

Keith settled back in the passenger’s seat, less tense than before, and glanced over at his friend Matt as he took the turn that would lead them towards Keith’s favorite coffee shop. He always felt a little heavy in the mornings, but with the prospect of coffee on the way, he grazed the sensation of being light again. They parked a block away, so the two of them huddled up in their jackets and scarves, and hurried past the wind to where they were able to seek refuge in the coffee shop’s entryway.

Keith beamed at Matt from over his knitted scarf and said, “I miss our coffee dates. Going alone isn’t as fun anymore.”

“I have to say—I thought I would be drinking more coffee in college, but I _definitely_ spend more money on it when I’m with you,” he said.

Keith’s favorite coffee shop was known for its eclectic interior, exposed brick walls, and wooden furniture. There were bookshelves all along the walls where they stood in line, tempted by the pastry treats in the window of the glass case up at the front. At the last second, just as Matt was ordering for them, he pointed to the pastry Keith was looking at and said, “We’ll take that too. To go.”

Keith refrained from arguing. When they got their snack, he split it in two and handed half of the bar to Matt as they waited for their drinks. “I’m gonna regret eating this,” he muttered to Matt, but at the time, he couldn’t help but savor every bite of it.

“It’ll be worth it. And aren’t the auditions today anyways?” he asked, and Keith rose an eyebrow at him as he licked a bit of granola off his fingers. “Auditions. Like, the ones to replace Narti and I.”

“What? No, I haven’t heard anything about it,” Keith confessed, frowning at the thought. The last audition he saw was his _own_ , and… it wasn’t exactly a _traditional_ audition. Shiro already recommended him to Lotor at that point, and Lotor and Coran just had to decide where Keith would fit into the show. “I didn’t—I thought Lotor didn’t want any more dancers.”

“Narti pestered him into it,” Matt said. “She mentioned it the other week when we did that whole _Blue_ performance.”

“Oh…”

“I figured we were gonna watch ‘em since practice is pushed back,” he said as his name was called from the counter. He went to fetch their drinks as Keith attempted to feel anything other than disappointment about this news. Something about having to deal with a newbie _really_ rubbed him the wrong way. He remembered how he was a nuisance to the rest of the dancers at the start—stepping on everyone’s toes, unfamiliar with dancing among other people, grumpy, pissed, an emotional disaster.

Not exactly the best combination for a new teammate. But Keith made it work... _eventually_.

Keith followed after Matt back to the car where he dropped into the passenger’s seat and buckled up. He crumpled up the wrapper for the bar and stuffed it into the side of the door as they started to head out. When they approached the club, Keith could already tell that there were _several_ unfamiliar cars parked out on the curb, and he dreaded every one of them.

“Don’t look so glum about it,” Matt said. “It’ll be fun! We get to watch a bunch of people epically fail at dancing.”

“That doesn’t sound like my definition of _fun_ ,” Keith grumbled, getting out of the car and tipping his coffee back into his mouth. He let the heat of it drench his insides and spread like wings across the interior of his chest. The only way he was going to get through a shitshow of auditions was by overdosing on caffeine. “Let’s get this over with,” he said, slinging his gym duffle over his shoulder as they headed for the back door of the club.

The door was open, and they could already hear the audition music from the front of the house. Around this time, a lot of the dancers would be in back preparing for practice, or already out on the stage. The second floor was empty as Keith went to his makeup chair and tossed his duffle underneath the desk of it. He flicked on the mirror lights and turned to where Matt was setting his coffee down and unzipping his winter jacket.

“I’m gonna head out there and see the newbies,” Matt told him. “See ya down there?”

“Um, yeah, sure,” Keith said, watching after his friend as he headed back towards the spiral staircase. Matt flashed him a peace sign before completely disappearing from view.

Keith unlooped the scarf from around his head and tossed it over his chair along with his jacket. His high-waisted jeans were a faded black around the hips, and his shirt lifted when he reached back to tie his hair back.

He spent enough years at his previous workplaces to know how they functioned, and to recognize the differences between his job now and the ones before. For one—he was just about the only dancer there to keep a cleaning cloth on his desk for rubbing the smudges away on his mirror. He supposed it was habit, but at this point, he really should be able to stop considering there wouldn’t be club security hiding on the other side of the mirrors. Keeping them clean and the security guards happy were Keith’s first tasks wherever his work moved him, and so he was on unreasonably good terms with Lotor’s security guards at the front of the club.

Keith wasn’t particularly _embarrassed_ about where he came from—Lotor said that plenty of the dancers had sketchy histories, but none of them had lingered around their strip clubs as long as Keith had. Keith had been at his last club long enough to know the regulars _too well_ , and on top of that, he had to deal with bullshit from them. He shuddered at the thought of it, and hurriedly finished braiding his hair.

When Keith got to the first floor of the club, he stuck to the outskirts of the floor and passed the bathrooms along the way. The stain glass wall dividing him from the stage bordered the hallway to the foyer of the club, and he found several other dancers standing around the archway to the dining area. Acxa and Ezor were among them, so Keith went to stand alongside them and peer through one of the clear windowpanes at the stage. He squinted and craned his neck to see the circular table where Lotor, Coran, and Shiro were sitting.

The previous auditioner finished up their routine, and left the stage. Lotor looked over at all of them from where they were lingering on the outskirts of the club, avoiding the drama of deciding between future dancers. Keith frowned at the pained looks on some of his coworkers’ faces.

“That bad?” he whispered to Acxa, who grimaced.

“We might be able to salvage _one_ of them,” she said. “The group session was…”

“ _Interesting_. We’ll put it that way,” Ezor whispered, leaning against Acxa to see Keith between her girlfriend and the archway. “I doubt that—”

“Hush up over there,” Coran snapped from the table as the next dancer came on.

Lotor looked down and squinted at the paper on the table. “Alright… Lance _McClain_. Fancy seeing you again.”

“Nice to see you to.” Keith’s eyebrows raised as he clutched his coffee closer to his chest and maneuvered over to see the stage clearly, and the fact that _Shiro’s toy_ was up there—

In _heels_.

Keith looked at the table again, and saw that Shiro had his hand over his face, sighing at the sight of what laid ahead. He noticed that some of the other dancers were startled—only one of them had auditioned in heels, and that had been Keith because it was all he wore these days.

“What’ll it be, _McClain_?” Lotor asked, crossing his arms and leaning back in the chair. “What’s your dance?”

“My dance? Oh, um…” Lance hummed cheekily on the stage, and Keith could already _feel_ Coran rolling his eyes. “I figured… you three could pick for me.”

“You’re kidding,” Coran said, and squinted at Shiro. “He’s kidding, right?”

Shiro had his hand over his mouth, and shook his head desperately, as if he wished Lance was. “Just… trust him. Pick one of the routines. Recent ones.”

Coran and Lotor were silent for a moment, and Lance just swayed on stage like he _wasn’t_ plotting something terrible. Keith glared at him as he sipped his coffee, and squinted at where Acxa and Ezor had their neatly trimmed eyebrows raised up to their hairlines. Eventually, they were brought back to Lotor clearing his throat and tossing down his pen.

“Fine. Coran, pick one.”

“Why me?”

“Because I said so,” Lotor insisted, and stared challengingly at Coran until Coran sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes as he twisted around in his chair to cue the stereo guy.

“ _This Is What Makes Us Girls_ ,” he ordered, and turned back around to raise his eyebrows at Lance, who raised his eyebrows back. As the stereo guy figured out the music, Lance ran his tongue over his teeth and looked pointedly at Shiro.

 _He doesn’t know the routine, does he?_ Keith asked himself, but the second the music came on, Lance was moving into position.

Lance turned away and dropped to his knees, rolling his shoulders back onto the floorboards as someone behind Keith—Ulaz—whistled low. The guy’s black joggers and crop top baseball tee put emphasis on the fluidity of his movements as he lifted up with Lana Del Rey singing, “ _Remember how we used to party up all night…_ ” Keith’s eyes drifted up with Lance’s hands as the flowed over his facial features, drifting, curving over his chest and abdomen before pushing the movement of his body forward.

His position spiraled, twisting, his hands in constant motion with the beat. The Girls Routine was definitely a tender dance, but it dazzled in the same way Lance did—hands teasing, touching, and floating like they were carried by the breeze Keith blamed his shudder on. There was little attention put on Lance’s long, _long_ legs, but Keith could see how Lance manipulated his hips with them, and moved his body around the stage on the path Keith was so familiar watching Ezor take at the forefront of all of the other female dancers.

_“Sweet sixteen and we had arrived… Baby's table dancin' at the local dive—”_

Lance was on his knees again, rolling his chest forward and up with his hands running through his hair, dropping, and crossing over his chest like _Holy Mother Teresa_. Keith heard Ezor squeak and turned to find her fanning herself. Keith turned away with a scowl, not even bothering to blow the hair out of his eyes because he couldn’t stand to see Shiro’s toy being _swooned at_.

“Alright—that’s good enough,” Lotor called out, and Keith thought to himself, _Thank God_.

Lance hesitated on stage, like he should keep going, but the music cut, and he was left on his knees staring at Lotor as he started to collect the pages on the table. “Wait—I wasn’t _done yet_ ,” Lance blurted out.

“Lance,” Lotor sighed. “You _really—_ ”

“Was that not good enough?” he demanded, standing up, heels clicking on the stage. He didn’t seem to care that all of the dancers were now there waiting for the end of the auditions to practice. “Give me another routine! I can do them all!”

“You can’t possibly have memorized all of them since you got here,” Lotor accused.

“I can prove it! Give me another routine to do!” Lance demanded, voice raising. Coran blinked in alarm, and laughed a little as Lotor set his jaw straight and glowered at this difficult sonuvabitch who stole his stage.

“ _Fine_ ,” Lotor hissed. “Moonbeams! _Rax!_ ”

“On it,” the stereo guy said, and a second later, Allura’s routine came on, and Keith looked back to find her grinning like the evil lady she was.

“What is it about you that makes you _love_ every time someone steals your routines,” he hissed at her, and she clamped her mouth shut into a scowl.

Lance had all of the signature expressions that Allura had, and nailed every single one of them as Frank Sinatra’s voice came on the speakers, singing, “ _A country dance was being held… in a garden.... I felt a bump and a ‘Oh beg your pardon!’_ ” His mouth fell into an “O”, holding a theatrical hand over his mouth with a hand on his hip that had some of the dancers giggling and prompting Lotor to cut the track again.

Lance all but stomped his feet like a child as Lotor rose his eyebrows at Lance. “What is it? Tell me what it is I’m doing wrong, and I’ll _fix it_! Please, sir, just give me a chance I _swear_ —I swear to _God_ I’ll work so damn hard for you—”

“Will you just shut your trap for one second! _God_!” Lotor shouted, throwing his hand out to silence Lance and his yammering. Lotor dropped his hand onto the pages, shaking his head as he looked across the table at Shiro and said, “Did you set him on this? Did you teach him all the routines?”

“No—only the ones he hasn’t seen in person. He did most of them on his own,” Shiro said.

Lotor turned away, and Coran still looked like an owl with his wide eyes still focused on Lance. Lance was on the stage panting, with his tee slipping on one shoulder as he awaited Lotor’s decision. Keith silently pleaded, hoping that his hatred for Lotor would momentarily subside in this moment of _truth_.

But of course, Keith would continue to go on hating Lotor, and he knew it the second he saw the look of absolute jubilation on Lance’s face.

Keith turned away as the other dancers yelped in excitement over Lotor’s decision. He finished off his coffee and chucked it in a nearby trash because _for fuck’s sake,_ he just wasn’t capable of getting a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come scream or fight, either one works lmao
> 
> Sarah: [girlskylark](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/)  
> Mogi: [thespace-dragon](http://thespace-dragon.tumblr.com/)


	5. { friends with benefits }

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance wants to celebrate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mogi @ Sarah: "Didn't you say you were gonna post this yesterday."  
> Sarah: "... I may have forgotten."

“I did it! I fucking  _ nailed it _ !” Lance screamed as he kicked the passenger door closed and danced onto the sidewalk. He thrust his fists in the air and yanked them down, squealing, “Did you see the look on Coran’s face?”

“I think he was just impressed that you were in  _ heels _ . What the hell were you  _ thinking _ ,” Shiro all but groaned as he slumped after Lance down the steps of his apartment. Lance locked the door behind them and shrugged off his coat. He plugged in the Christmas lights strung up around his apartment. On the way down the stairs, he kicked off the heels that Shiro was complaining about. Lance’s feet were complaining too, but that was easier for him to ignore.

“Aw, don’t tell me you didn’t  _ love it _ ,” he teased. “You were blushing!”

“I was  _ angry _ ,” Shiro insisted, sticking his nose in the air as he crossed his arms. Lance bounded down the steps and flung himself at Shiro, who, in his shock, opened his arms to catch Lance. 

Lance giggled and tucked his legs around Shiro’s waist. “See? You’re blushing now,” he said, and it just made Shiro turn redder, looking away with a pout. 

“You  _ did _ do a good job of bullying Lotor…” he admitted with a small smile as Lance hugged him and accepted his fate as a lovesick fool. 

His legs tightened around Shiro’s waist when he was nearly toppled over onto the futon. Shiro tried to tug him off, but Lance had done this plenty of times with Julian to know how to persevere. “Lance, c’mon, I should probably leave,” Shiro said.

“Oh yeah? And what do you have going on tomorrow? That’s right,  _ nothing _ , because it’s Tuesday,” Lance said, and pointedly kissed Shiro on the cheek. “And I got the job! We have to celebrate! What do you like to drink?”

“Oh—I don’t drink,” Shiro said as Lance pulled his head away from Shiro’s shoulder, pursing his lips in thought.

“Okay, no alcohol. What about… a tall drink of  _ this _ ,” Lance joked, kicking his leg out from Shiro’s waist, and dragging a hand down his side. 

Shiro laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

Lance couldn’t help but smile as he recognized those dimples on Shiro’s cheeks. They were close enough that Lance could see the color of Shiro’s eyes clearly, despite the fact that they were really only illuminated by Lance’s collection of Christmas lights.

Shiro tugged his arms around Lance and cleared his throat, looking between Lance’s two, wide blue eyes as he said, “I really am happy about you getting the job.”

“Me too,” Lance whispered, and judged Shiro’s body language once more before taking a chance. 

He pulled Shiro down, pressing their lips together, and letting the two of them melt into the futon where Shiro knelt over him. Shiro dipped their hips onto the cushions, his excuses hesitating on his tongue as Lance convinced him that this was  _ definitely _ —

They pulled back to breathe, panting as Lance fanned hot air across Shiro’s neck with every kiss. Shiro held his hand to the back of the futon, lifting himself up as Lance clung to his neck and pulled them back together. Shiro turned his head away, saying, “I shouldn’t—”

“Yeah, but do you  _ want  _ to?” Lance asked, combing his fingers through Shiro’s hair as Shiro stared at the futon cushions, and the pillows that fell on the ground. 

Shiro worried his lip between his teeth, admitting, “ _ Yeah _ , I do—”

“ _ Should _ and  _ want _ are two  _ very _ different things,” Lance said with a smile, cheekily rolling his hips up into Shiro’s so they could both feel just how excited he was about this. Lance was stuck on the high of having won his part in Lotor’s shows, and now he was set on winning Shiro over once and for all.

Everything on Shiro’s face that showed pained restraint faded when Lance pulled their lips together again. His moan was caught in the back of his throat, and it had Lance’s toes curling as he tilted his head back, breathing hard as he lifted his hips back up to Shiro’s. Shiro heaved him off the futon, eliciting a giddy squeak from Lance.

“You  _ seriously _ want me to carry you?” Shiro laughed in between the kisses he laid across Lance’s exposed neck.

“I just spent all day and night on my feet dancing and running around—I think I’ll pass on the walking,” he said, giggling as Shiro tipped them onto Lance’s bed.

Lance used the momentum and his weight to flip Shiro onto his back so Lance sat with his knees astride Shiro’s abdomen. Even in the faint, distant glow of the living room Christmas lights, Lance could tell just how incredible Shiro looked like this—smiling underneath Lance on the frameless mattress.

He traced his hands over Shiro’s chest, lining each defined muscle, reveling in the way the man’s breath hitched as his hands glided over every plane. They danced over Shiro’s abs before starting their return trip up his chest. Lance followed his hands and gracefully draped himself over Shiro, bumping their noses together.

“Lance, I—”

Lance silenced him with a deep, lingering kiss, leaving both of them slightly out of breath. “Sh… Let this happen, Shiro…”

Shiro’s hand gripped Lance’s tee, fingers flexing and worrying the fabric. “Lance, this really shouldn’t—I shouldn’t—”

Pushing him upright, Lance sighed frustratedly. They both wanted this; it wasn’t like either of them could hide their growing attraction for each other for much longer. During his time as a waiter for the club, Lance could feel the sexual tension between them each time they interacted. Shiro liked to believe that he hid his emotions rather well from Lance while helping him learn the dances, but Lance saw the lingering looks, the stares that were directed at his legs and ass. Hell, he could even believe that the short amount of time they spent on that more risque dances was because Shiro was very close to caving and jumping Lance—not that he wouldn’t mind that at all. He was straddling Shiro’s hips after all.

“What is it, Shiro? We both want this, what’s holding you back?” he demanded, arms crossing and frowning down at Shiro.

Shiro sighed and stared at the ceiling of Lance’s bedroom, clenching and unclenching his teeth as he sought the right words. “Lance, it’s not… it’s not that I don’t like you, it’s just…”

Lance waited, as patiently as he could. He would give Shiro this, after all the man has done for him—from saving him from that creep at the bar, landing him a job, and helping him learn all the dances—it was the least he could do.

Shiro closed his eyes and sighed again, more of a groan than anything. “I can’t—we can’t do this.”

“Why not?” Lance pouted, but genuinely concerned of overstepping Shiro’s boundaries.

“I don’t date coworkers…”

Lance blinked. And blinked again. “Okay?”

Shiro blinked back. “What?”

“Okay. We don’t have to date.” Lance shrugged and rubbed his arms. He really didn’t want to lose Shiro, not after everything he had done for him. He wanted to give back to him. And he was perfectly fine with being friends with him—friends with added benefits.

Shiro frowned. “You don’t want to date me?”

_ God _ , this was a trainwreck. “No! That’s not what I said, don’t twist my words here!” Lance slapped Shiro’s chest lightly. “What I said, is that we don’t  _ have _ to date. We’re still friends, but sometimes we sleep together.”

“So…” Shiro raised an eyebrow and shuffled to sit up on his elbows. (Oh, gosh that felt  _ good _ .) “You’re okay with being fuck buddies.”

Lance rolled his eyes and suppressed a shudder. “You don’t have to put it like that. Friends with benefits is nicer.”

“And you’re sure about that—this?”

He nodded. For fuck’s sake, he was  _ so _ okay with this. He wanted more, wanted to explore every part of Shiro now that he knew he wasn’t technically off limits.

“Positive? Absolutely sure—”

Lance groaned and shut Shiro up with another blazing kiss. “Just—stop—talking.” Each word was punctuated by a kiss.

He rolled his hips down, chasing the much needed friction for the erection in his pants still. Lance pulled Shiro in for blistering kiss, licking at his lips, then his tongue. Both of them moaned when Lance rolled his hips again, shuddering against each other.

When Lance pulled away to breathe, Shiro chased after him, nipping at his neck and collarbone. “Sh-Shiro—”

Shiro nipped and sucked at Lance’s skin, leaving behind reddening marks and tender spots. With a growl, Shiro rolled them over and pinned Lance to the bed with his body, savagely pressing his hips against Lance’s, grinding and rolling.

Lance panted and wrapped his legs around Shiro’s waist. More, more, his body needed  _ more _ . His hands clawed at Shiro’s back, desperately wanting more.

Shiro rocked his hips against him, both of them moaning as the friction brought them a small addition of pleasure.

Lance pulled at Shiro’s shirt, dotting his fingers up Shiro’s chest before landing at his chin. “Clothes. Off.” He started to shimmy out of his own, the loose croptop was already rucked up to the top of his chest.

Shiro smirked against his neck, nibbling a little before lifting off of Lance. Both of them wasting no time in tearing off their shirts, Lance even went as far as tugging off his joggers and lounging on his bed as Shiro’s head popped out of his shirt. His hair was a mess, the forelock partially standing up from static electricity. Lance snorted, covering his mouth as he giggled uncontrollably. Seeing Shiro as anything less than  _ absolute _ perfection was unbelievably hilarious to him. He was always so composed and together, but now? He looked like a college student that just woke up. Fuck, he was cute  _ and _ funny. Lance was a goner.

Shiro smirked down at him as he planted himself on his elbows, caging Lance in. “Something funny, McClain?”

“Ha—Nope! Nope, nothing at all,” Lance struggled not to laugh out right, Shiro’s hair tickling his forehead making it worse.

“Oh, I think there is,” Shiro teased, winding his fingers through Lance’s hair, petting light circles into his scalp. “You gonna tell me what it is?”

Lance shook his head, pressing his lips together and shaking from trying to suppress his laughter. It was too funny, and of course he was suffering that terrible situation where you laugh harder when you try to explain why you’re laughing. It was such a struggle—poor Lance.

Shiro nuzzled his nose against Lance’s cheek and started to laugh too.  _ Oh gosh, he was contagious.  _ “Sh-Shiro—! Stop, no, hahaha, stop laughing!”

“Then why’re you laughing!?” Shiro pressed his head against Lance’s shoulder and just lost it. They both did.

All the stress from practicing from the routines non-stop for the last two weeks, how tired they were, it all bubbled out of them with snorts and giggles, sometimes they howled and cackled, wheezing for breath and sighing as they got control of themselves before they looked at each other and it started all over again. And if Lance’s hysterical attitude Now was the result of two weeks of brutal torture, then he spent even longer pining for this moment he was wasting with laughter.

As soon as he had his breath back, he took to kissing Shiro again and again as he undid his pants and shimmied them down. He helped Shiro with his situation, and felt his breath hitch when his hand passed over the bulge in Shiro’s boxers. He laid his palm flat over it, and felt his heart flutter at Shiro’s shaky inhale.

“Sensitive, are we?” Lance commented with a sly grin.

“It’s been a while,” Shiro confessed.

Lance’s smile was pure evil as he pulled Shiro’s boxers down and ordered him to take them completely off. As Shiro shifted to the side to shed them, Lance hurried out of his own underwear just in time to tip Shiro over and climbed back on top. He all but purred at the sensation of Shiro hot and ready against his bare hand.

“Then  _ allow me _ to take care of you tonight.”

Shiro swallowed, eyes wide, and nodded. Lance beamed at him, leaning down for a quick kiss, stroking Shiro’s cock. Shiro’s breath stuttered again as Lance rolled his thumb over the head. Oh yeah, this was going to be a good time.

Lance continued his ministrations, loving the way Shiro gasped and jumped in his grip. It didn’t take long for the two them to fall into a rhythm, the ebb and flow of lulling them into fill in each other’s gaps, piecing together a puzzle they never knew existed.

Shiro and Lance fell into a night of bliss and laughter (Lance couldn’t stop making jokes about their night being like the sex montages in movies whenever Shiro was close. If it wasn’t possible to be laughing during an orgasm before, it is now.)

 

. . .

 

The next few nights after work shared tentative, but eager smiles from over the bar after the front doors closed for the night. Lance was eager to accept the challenge, especially if it meant his exhaustion could be momentarily expelled by  _ really _ amazing sex with Shiro. Lance was living, and Shiro was along for the ride at this point. The poor man was simply amazed at the stamina Lance had some nights—needless to say there were some brief moments where Shiro feared for the life of his dick and had to tell Lance no.

As if that would discourage Lance.

Besides the really hot and awesome sex, Lance came to really appreciate having Shiro around. It made his apartment warmer, more like the home he missed. Waking up next to Shiro was… it was like falling to sleep and dreaming up the best scenario ever. Lance was no longer surprised about how head over heals he was for Shiro; Shiro was goddamned perfect in every single way that it counted, and Lance really couldn’t ask for more. He really couldn’t ask for anything more than just  _ being _ with Shiro.

While dating Shiro would be a huge plus, Lance knew how it went. He counted himself lucky that Shiro even  _ considered _ him in the first place.

He snuggled into Shiro’s side, melting into the warm cocoon they created.

Yeah, he could settle for this.

 

. . .

 

Lance didn’t start practice until the next week when Downtown Daibazaal was closed for Monday. Coran had him come in early in the morning for warm up, and then to learn the numbers before the rest of the dancers were supposed to show up. He had a shopping list of supplies to go through, which included ballet flats, makeup brushes, extra face wash to keep at the club (along with an extra brush and clothes) among other essentials for practically living at the club for the next few weeks until he was caught up.

He supposed it helped that even if his wallet was now empty, his next payday was approaching just in time for rent. It also helped that Lance no longer dreaded living alone because his mattress was starting to smell like Shiro’s cologne, and he couldn’t get the image of Shiro, Shiro, Shiro out of his head. It was difficult to forget how the morning after, Lance could see Shiro in the kitchen through the open doors of the bedroom. Shirtless, flawless, and looking more lax than the day Lance first met him. 

Lance hoisted his arms up to his pillow and crossed them, resting his cheek against them as he watched the hottie in his kitchen work his magic. The smell of coffee raised in the air, contrasting against the obvious chill in the air that had Lance wrapping the blanket closer, over his shoulders and head. The promise of warmth had Lance maneuvering off the bed, slinking out from under the covers, and scampering to fetch actual  _ clothes _ . He bounced on his feet as he hiked up his underwear and ignored all of his soreness like he did every other day after practice. 

He pulled up hefty black sweatpants, though he desperately wished he could be the one-night-stand who strutted through the apartment in booty shorts and no shirt. He had a heavy flannel shirt—the  _ good _ kind that he could wear as a jacket—and grabbed Shiro’s peacoat along the way to the kitchen. 

Lance murmured a sheepish, “Hey,” that had Shiro turning around as Lance drifted closer. He passed Shiro the coat and said, “You must be cold.”

“It’s not too bad. How are you?” he asked, tucking the coat to his chest as Lance pushed himself into Shiro’s back, pressing his smile between Shiro’s shoulder blades. “Good?”

“Mhm…” he hummed, and grudgingly pulled away to shove his arms through his flannel and button up the front. “I smell coffee.”

“Oh, yeah—”

“You didn’t have to make breakfast, too,” Lance all but moaned, unable to hide his happiness. He replaced the coffee pot with his mug so he got it fresh from the coffeemaker. “Thanks, though.”

“Habit, I guess,” he said, clearing his throat. “I used to date a guy who was a coffee addict. So I just started making it every morning.”

“Aw, cute,” Lance said, smiling as he tipped his hip against the countertop, arms crossed. “How long ago was that?”

“About a year ago,” he said, flipping a pancake before pushing his hand over his face and saying, “Ah, sorry, I shouldn’t be talking about my exes.”

“What’s it matter? It’d be different if this was after a date or something,” Lance said, tipping his head to the side. “So a year ago. What’ve you been doing since then?”

Shiro sighed, looking at Lance to gauge whether or not he wanted the truth. Lance tried to make his expression look encouraging, but he wasn’t sure if it worked because all Shiro did was sigh again. “Trying to get over it,” he said at last. “It was a rough breakup. We were living together at the time and… I mean, it was entirely my fault so the guilt is a little difficult to cope with.”

“What happened? Did you cheat on him or something?”

“No—No, I would never cheat,” he said, shaking his head. “Things got complicated. It wasn’t our  _ relationship _ that got complicated, but just… life in general.”

“So if your relationship was fine… I’m guessing you loved him then? When you two broke it off?” Lance asked, and Shiro answered with a mute nod. “I’m sorry, Shiro. That sucks.”

“Yeah, well… I’m still working on it. I figured I would’ve moved on by now, but you’re the first person I’ve slept with since,” Shiro said, and didn’t look at Lance as he handed him a plate. 

“You don’t…  _ regret it _ , do you?” Lance asked, and quickly added, “I had a lot of fun. I never would’ve known you were one year out of practice.”

Shiro snorted, contained his laughter as he shook his head, saying, “No—No, I don’t regret it. I thought I’d feel guilty, but…”

“You can’t keep trying to  _ make _ yourself feel guilty about shit like this,” Lance told him. Shiro tried to argue against him, but Lance shut him down. “You kept making up excuses that would give you a reason to feel guilty about sleeping with me. Us being coworkers.”

“Okay, but that isn’t even an excuse,” Shiro said. “Having relationships with coworkers  _ always _ becomes messy. There’s no way to have a professional relationship with someone you wake up in the morning to, kiss ‘em on the cheek, and say, ‘Morning sweetheart.’ Even if you’re a dancer now, I’m still superior to you.”

Lance rolled his eyes, but Shiro went on lecturing him. “It’s impossible to be unbiased with people you love, and if you are, suddenly you’re a total asshole.”

“I’m sure that’s not the case…” Lance tried to say, but there was some truth to what Shiro said that gave Lance a bitter taste in his mouth. 

The coffeemaker sputtered out an inch from the rim of Lance’s mug.

“People get butthurt over little shit like… you telling them they’re wrong, and them feeling like you’ve betrayed their trust.”

“So what you’re saying is that you can’t be the doctor to a patient you live with?” Lance said, and Shiro nodded. “I guess that makes sense. You miss the little things because you inadvertently train yourself to ignore them.”

When they sat down with their coffee and pancakes, they ate in silence for a good while before Lance started poking around his food. “Sorry for unintentionally pestering you about us dating. I  _ do _ get what you mean.”

“It’s okay. Really.” Lance looked over to Shiro, who offered another dazzling smile. “Now we’re both on the same page.”


	6. { somebody to love }

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance got the job, Keith's pissed about it, and Shiro's one step closer to have two hands to please with *wink wink nudge nudge*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mogi is ill and I'm scatterbrained and so here's the (much delayed) chapter :D

  


Keith couldn’t stand to watch _Lance_ up there with the other dancers. The second he walked into the full show rehearsal, he realized that _this_ was what he had been dreading all day. It took all of his self-restraint to keep from crushing the coffee tumbler in his hand.

“I hate that fucker so much,” Keith seethed under his breath to Matt, who rolled his eyes and tossed his arm around the shorter version of himself standing trapped in the archway. Pidge had accompanied them, claiming she meant to work on homework at the bar, but the dancers always had people sidetracked.

“Which fucker? There’s half a dozen of ‘em up there,” she said. Matt pointed to one of the dancers off to the side. It’d take a while for Lance to even nail a center-stage part, but based on Keith’s current sodium levels, Lance was _too_ happy about where he was on stage.

“He doesn’t look too bad,” Pidge declared, looking up at Keith, and then over to her brother. “Right? Is Keith just crushing again.”

“Fuck no,” Keith snarled at her, twisting his duffle off his shoulder and stalking back to the archway. “I’m heading up to change.”

“I’ll meet you up there in a bit!” Matt called out, listening to Keith’s heels fade away behind the backstage door. As Keith maneuvered up the short set of stairs to the first floor behind the curtains, Matt turned back to the stage as Pidge drifted off towards the bar that Wednesday afternoon and climbed onto one of the bar stools, dropping her backpack at the countertop.

The sound of it brought Shiro’s head up from where he was sorting through a crate of bottles he carried up from the basement. He scowled at Pidge, who snickered at him and started hefting up a canvas bag that clunked onto the bar. She laid a hand over the top of it, and raised an eyebrow at him.

Shiro stood up and sighed at Matt, who wandered over with a grin. “I told you to stop bringing your sister here,” he said. “She’s not twenty-one and shouldn’t be _sitting at this bar_.”

“We aren’t even open yet—chill,” Matt said. “She’ll be gone by the time we open.”

“What is with all you bartenders hating on the twenty-year-olds?” Pidge demanded. “I get kicked out of every bar I set foot in. I bet that when I _am_ twenty-one, I’ll _still_ get kicked out of every bar I set foot in.”

Shiro gave her a dull look until the moment she shed the canvas bag off of the metal box inside. It was pure white, and rounded at the edges. “Is… that what I think it is?” he asked, pointing to it as she undid the clasps and opened the lid, shielding the product from view.

“I can’t let you try it out, but I _really_ just want you to get a look at it,” she said, and Matt’s smug grin only widened when Shiro turned starry-eyed at the sight of Pidge removing the prosthetic hand from the box.

She’d been working on this since her freshman year of college. Before that, her research group was hard at work for nearly a decade before. She came in near the last leg of the journey, finalizing aesthetics using her industrial design specialties to make the exterior less bulky, the weight of it easy for users, and yet still functional for people like Shiro to adapt to. He saw pictures of it plenty of times—the project became something intimate to him, and he loved to watch its’ progression through the years.

They had volunteers like Shiro help with the testing of prototypes, and when it was finalized and made available for purchase, Shiro’s participation in the study would offer him a significant discount on the steep price. It would be the equivalent of investing in two cars simultaneously, but… he couldn’t find a reason to care about the financial part.

“Pidge… oh my God, it looks incredible,” he gasped, leaning over the bar as Pidge held it out to him. “Am I able to…?”

“You can _hold it_ ,” she said. “Do you want me to test the range of motion?”

“It works?” he asked, jaw dropping as she nodded and reached into the box. She dislodged the well in which the hand rested, and pulled out a digital screen that she charged up. “You know where the button is.”

He searched for it on the inner wrist—the rest of the sleeve was meant to simply hold it to his empty wrist all the way up to his elbow. He held it by the back of the hand as the fingers curled inward and out, flexing as it loaded with Pidge’s instruction pad.

“We’ve got a synchronizing program for every morning when the user puts their prosthetic on,” Pidge explained. “I didn’t have anything to do with this, but we have some developers who created the app on this data pad. It makes sure that your prosthetic is functional and ready for wear. You go through these motions before even putting it on. It takes about a minute.”

“What does it do?” Shiro asked, and listened intently while Pidge explained how each hand gesture you press on the pad is supposed to then register in the prosthetic. The delay time was incredible—there was hardly any lag from what Shiro could tell, and Pidge seemed pleased with it, which meant that it was working perfectly.

The hand counted up to five, and continued on to ten using basic ASL before rolling its wrist and ending on an “OK” gesture. Matt poked his finger through it lewdly, which had Pidge cackling, and Shiro rolling his eyes.

“My part in the project is pretty much done,” she confessed, taking the hand back and placing it in the box along with the data pad. “It’s all up to the programmers now. I can’t tell you much about when it’ll be released, but… my hope is _soon_.”

“It could take months for the paperwork to go through,” Matt told her, but all she did was smile in her creepy, psychotic way.

Shiro was about to respond when he heard Coran’s commanding voice from the stage, calling Keith’s name. The second he was distracted, someone hit him in the shoulder, and he flinched, slapping Matt’s hand away. “That’s for being an ass,” Matt said.

“What did I do?” Shiro demanded, eyes wide as Matt propped himself up on a stool to lean over the counter and bat his shoulder again. “Hey—! Watch it!”

“Did it ever occur to you that you’re being a _little_ hypocritical right now?” Matt hissed, and Pidge whistled low, saying, “ _Oooh_ , this is gonna be good.”

“About what, exactly?” Shiro demanded, resting a hand on the edge of the counter as Matt narrowed his eyes at Shiro. “I haven’t done anything wrong, as far as I can tell. Would you mind _enlightening me_.”

“ _You_ —” Matt started, breaking off at the sound of Keith whining something from the stage that was incoherent from here. “You’re _dating a coworker_ with Keith _standing right there_.”

“I— _What?_ Are you suddenly keeping tabs on me now?” Shiro hissed. “And what’s it matter? We broke up a year ago.” _Why, did Keith mention something about Lance?_ he wondered, eyes widening at the thought. The guilt he told himself wasn’t real started to resurface again. “And I am _not_ dating a coworker, all right? We aren’t dating.”

“Sure as hell looks like it to me. You know how shitty that is of you?” Matt remarked. “And I was _so sure_ you still loved him. _Clearly_ you don’t, because of this bullshit.”

Shiro was used to Matt’s fake anger, but this was too cutting to be a farce. Shiro stilled in his spot, watching Matt twist out of his chair with one last glare. He would have felt better had Matt made an explicit threat like he always did, but Matt just sauntered off, leaving Pidge at the bar. Her eyes were wide, staring after her brother before hurriedly packing up her bag.

“Uh… _right_ , well, I should get going. I’ll see you around, Shiro,” she said, and scampered out after her brother. Shiro watched them say goodbye and head out their own ways, but not before Matt glared at Shiro once more from the archway threshold. He jabbed two fingers towards his eyes, and pegged Shiro with them— _I’ve got my eye on you_.

Shiro’s attention went back to the stage, and he hurriedly booked it to the back room so he could avoid the situation out there as best he could. Still, he could hear Keith complaining from the stage, “It’s not _my_ fault he’s shitty at hiphop—why are you punishing _me_ for it?”

“Whoa, calm down, not all of us are rockstar drama queens,” Ezor said, tipping her elbow against Acxa’s shoulder.

Keith turned to her with his arms crossed, hissing, “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“You are a bit of a drama queen sometimes,” Acxa confessed.

“Aren’t we all,” Coran sighed, twirling the ends of his mustache. He clapped his hands together then, and interrupted a potential verbal fight between Keith and Acxa. “Lance won’t be in the modern house dance routines until he’s better equipped to deal with them.”

“That really limits him to our traditional nights, though,” Allura commented from beside Coran. “Zethrid could give him a few pointers, get him started on improving his modern routines?”

Coran tapped his chin, and glared at Keith for a moment. Keith rolled his eyes and walked to the opposite side of the stage, _far_ from where Lance was stuck being scrutinized by the rest of the team.

“Well… traditional dances seem to be your strong suit…” Coran hummed. “Best stick with that. We can’t have everything straight off the bat, right? I’ll talk to Zethrid later. Monday afternoons we’ll practice street and house dance, alright?”

“Yes, that sounds perfect, sir,” Lance said, clasping his hands together with that brilliant smile on as Shiro exited the back room to finish restocking the cocktail fruit containers. The fact that Lance spent all of middle school and high school participating in _some_ sort of theatre production meant that he rarely got to professionally learn dances outside of ballet and tap dancing.

He knew joining the dancers didn’t mean the end of those exhausting practice sessions with Shiro—in fact, the practices became more laborious. He still had energy at the start, but after that, Shiro would drive Lance home, linger in the kitchen making Lance dinner, and deliver the plate to the floor next to where Lance was passed out on the mattress. When Shiro wasn’t there to deliver dinner, Lance would pop Pizza Rolls into the oven, or eat a Poptart, pass out, and regret it in the morning.

But, Lance never slept better than when he did after those intense practices that Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday morning. For the first show he experienced, Coran had him running costumes and helping dancers get into their dresses or buckle their lingerie Y-strings while they did their makeup in the mirror.

Usually, he would just run up to a frantic dancer, ask if they needed help, and they’d gasp and exclaim, “ _Yes_! Oh my God, you’re a doll—take off my bra for me.” or, “Yeah, pin my hair here, here, and here. Thanks!” He got to know their names that way, and couldn’t help but feel his heart race whenever he helped Allura. Her hair took some taming, and when Acxa wasn’t there to help, Lance would show up at her side and follow her vague instructions. Years of helping Rosa out came in handy in that way.

There were some people Lance figured out the hard way that they didn’t _need_ help—and by “some people,” he means Keith, who swore at him to “Piss off.” Lance had been so alarmed that he stood in the middle of the walkway for a solid minute after Keith bolted down the stairs yelling for Coran to help zip up his costume.

“Don’t take it personally,” someone said from behind, voice light and energetic—Ezor. She dropped her arm around Lance’s shoulders and said, “He doesn’t let me zip him up either.”

“That’s because you’re creepy, Ezor,” Acxa deadpanned from her makeup table.

“Aw, babe!” she whined, arms slumping to her sides. Now released, Lance hurried off to avoid getting caught up with Ezor draping herself over Acxa, who was frantically trying to push Ezor off so that she could finish her makeup in peace.

Lance learned the ins and outs of the backstage this way. He was forced to find the costume closets based on their nonexistent names. The second Coran learned that Lance knew a thing or two about fixing stitches, he roped Lance up into fixing costumes that tore. That Thursday night—another night where Lance was _still_ on hold for dancing on stage—Coran had Lance in Lotor’s second floor office where he could fix all of the costumes that were pushed to the backs of the closets due to their faulty zippers and ripped crotches. There was a surprising number of ripped crotches that just made Lance nervous to stitch up in fear of the seams coming undone again during one of the many splits the dancers did through the night.

In the midst of lounging on Lotor’s leather couch, a lamp trained on the fabric in his hands, Lance was interrupted by the double doors opening without a knock. He looked up, and seemed equally as startled to find his boss standing there as his boss was.

Lotor hesitated in the doorway, one hand trailing behind to where he was in the progress of leading Narti in. “Um… Did Coran tell you to…?” Lotor started, gesturing to the pile of costumes in laundry baskets.

“Yeah. Uh, there wasn’t much space out there for stitching all of these up so he told me to work in here. Do you need me to leave, or…?” Lance asked, sitting up straighter, as if preparing to book it out of there. Narti drew closer to Lotor’s side, tucking her arm around his to say something in his ear.

After a moment, Lotor shook his head and said, “No, you’re fine here. I need to head back down anyways.” He turned to Narti and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “What do you want on?”

She hummed for a moment as Lotor walked off to the far corner of the room. Lance had been wondering what that box was doing over there, but now that Lotor lifted the lid, he realized that it was a record player. Lance was surprised by how the walls and floor muffled the music outside, and how clear the music was as soon as Lotor put on Narti’s requested track.

Lance watched out of the corner of his eye as Narti reached a hand towards Lotor’s desk. She grazed her fingers over the wooden edge of it, and traveled around to the other side. She found Lotor’s swivel desk chair, and took a seat as Lotor headed out. He opened the doors again, and the stage music drifted in before being shut out again. With the doors closed once more, Lance looked back at Narti, who drew a knee up to her chest and tapped absently away at it before speaking again.

“Lance, right?” she asked.

“Yeah, how’d you know?” he said, raising an eyebrow as he went back to pricking a needle through the fabric in his hands.

“You have an easily recognizable voice. It sounds different outside of the bar area, though. I suppose we were all shouting then to talk over the music, huh?” she commented. “How’re you liking your new job? Lotor said you scored the dancing position.”

“Oh! Um, it’s good. Mostly just getting the hang of things still. I’m not on stage yet, as you can tell,” he said.

“Coran will keep you on small duties unless you push him. Make sure to _really_ badger him about your starting date, okay?” she said, and he suddenly felt alarmed. He hadn’t realized it was even _possible_ for him to be stuck stitching costumes. “I’d tell him myself, but he’s gotta take you seriously first. Give him a piece of your mind.”

“Isn’t that what I’m… _not_ supposed to do to a superior?” he laughed, and Narti giggled, tipping her head back against the cushioned chair. “I figured… he’d just let me on when he thinks I’m ready.”

“No one’s ever _really_ ready to be on stage, hun,” she said. “It’ll be a disaster at first and you’ll be nervous and stuff, but you’ll get over it. You’ve been in theatre, right? So you know what I mean. You could practice one performance for an entire year and you’ll always have something to improve on. And they’re constantly rotating performances to keep things fresh. So the dances you know now won’t be relevant in, say, a week, or a month.”

“Oh…”

“But you’re a fast learner. Lotor says you’re getting the hang of just about everything Coran’s thrown at you so far,” she said. “And Zethrid says that you’re on track with learning hiphop.”

Lance was too flattered to respond. He pursed his lips together and listened to the acoustics drifting through the speakers. Narti seemed comfortable with Lance’s silence, and so he stayed quiet and finished folding up another successful costume-recovery.

Lance was determined to take Narti’s advice and use it as motivation to confront Coran. He had practice the next morning, and with Shiro unable to drive Lance back to his apartment—inventory determined that Shiro would likely be at Downtown Daibazaal for another hour—Lance was left to his own devices. He walked home in the snow, reciting possible speeches to Imaginary Coran as the snowflakes collected and stuck to his brown hair. In the streetlights, the snow outlined his head and shoulders with an angelic glow, and he loved every second he spent in the cold, if only so that he could pretend he was a kid again and make footprint-hearts all along the sidewalk leading up to his apartment stoop.

He cooked himself dinner as he strutted around the kitchen, swinging a knife or a spoon around, saying, “Coran! I challenge _you_ to promote me to the stage—er… whatever. Okay, no, that is… definitely not appropriate for this situation. Okay, but when am I ever going to challenge someone?” His timer for the oven went off them, so he wasn’t able to finish that train of thought before he went onto other tactics for challenging Coran the following morning.

Since Alfor was working the afternoon shift for setting up the bar, Lance walked back to the club that morning on his own. He followed the trail his footprint-hearts made in the snow, and ended up at the back door of Downtown Daibazaal, letting out a shaky breath, and coaching himself into _getting the fuck over this._

He took another reassuring breath in, letting the winter air chill his insides before he opened the back door of the club. He hurried up to his makeup table and plopped his duffle underneath it. After shrugging off his jacket and changing into tennis shoes, Lance headed down to find Coran.

Lance spun around the spiral staircase railing before stopping at the sound of Coran’s voice blending with Zethrid’s. He hesitated at the bottom step, and leaned over to see where Coran was standing near the mural painted on the far back wall of the stage. Only one spotlight was on, catching on the curtains so that a shadow fell over Zethrid as she said, “Coran, really, do we have to do this? The kid is learning fine, ya don’t need to—”

Coran was reading something off of his phone, and lifted a hand up to silence her. “I know you’re concerned about him, but there’s a reason Lotor made me the manager. If I say he isn’t ready, he’s not ready.”

Zethrid rolled her eyes and combed a hand through her hair, starting to argue against him when she turned to look back stage, and caught Lance peeking from behind the divider that blocked the stairs from the stage. He squeaked and made as if to head back up the stairs, but Coran already heard him.

“Lance, you’re here. Great, we can get started,” he said, pocketing his phone and clasping his hands together. Lance winced from the stairs, and Zethrid just turned to Coran with a sigh, arms crossed.

“I think he heard you, Captain Asshole,” she said.

Coran pursed his lips and glared at her as Lance started towards them. Lance had enough practice with stage directors to know when and when not to take criticism personally, and after spending all night thinking about reasons why he _was_ ready, he wasn’t about to let Coran make him think otherwise.

“Look, Lance—I know what you’re gonna say,” Coran started.

“I don’t care—I’m gonna say it anyways,” Lance declared, turning his chin up. Zethrid raised an eyebrow at him, and Coran just looked amused. “I know you don’t think I’m ready—clearly—but I think we both know that I’m a fast learner and the only way I’m gonna be able to learn how to deal with these live performances is if I experience it for myself. And I realize that you probably think I’m not ready because _you_ aren’t ready to stop holding my hand through this. You can’t exactly hold my hand through a live performance, and that makes you nervous because as the manager, you like to have control over everything that has to do with the dancers on stage. And just because I’m a newbie doesn’t mean I’m incompetent or ignorant.”

Zethrid let out a low whistle, and laughed at Coran’s startled expression. “Shit, he’s really got you down to a ‘T’, huh Coran?” she said, slapping his arm.

Coran narrowed his eyes at Lance, and internally, Lance was screaming. Had he gone too far? He hadn’t intended to insult Coran. He hadn’t planned for this.

“You _really_ have a way with words, don’t you?” Coran commented, and as Lance momentarily stumbled around for a response, Coran laughed and said, “I’ll think about it. We still have practice to go through this afternoon.”

Coran walked off towards the stage to get the music going, and Lance let out a sigh of relief as Zethrid clapped him on the back. “Wow, I’ve never seen a newbie talk like that to Coran before. Well—except for Keith. He was a fireball when he first came through here.”

“I doubt I’m as talented as Keith was coming in here,” Lance confessed with a nervous laugh.

“Yeah… but that’s okay! ‘Cause I say you’re still doin’ pretty good. Just do your best in practice today and we’ll see what Coran has to say about it,” she said, guiding him out onto the stage as Coran climbed the steps to where Rax usually controlled the sound system.

Coran cleared his throat as he started up the speakers, and scrolled through the music on the computer monitor. “Right, so… we’ll just be going over the routines that the dancers will be going through tonight. Just… you know, for precaution’s sake.”

Lance’s jaw dropped and he looked at Zethrid, who threw her head back laughing and lifted a hand for Lance to high five. He squeaked and jumped up to slap her hand as Coran started the music for the first performance of the night.

Fridays were generally throwback nights, full of The Greats that Lance loved—Michael Jackson, Elton John, Billy Joel, _Queen_. Lance loved working the floor those nights because he got to listen to his favorite classics, and watch the dancers from afar. But, due to Coran’s reluctant permission, Lance was viewing the performance from the stage.

When the other dancers started showing up and hearing the news, Ezor came screaming up the steps to tackle Lance in his makeup chair, trying to put on fake eyelashes for the first performance he’d be in. “Congratulations! Oh my God, you’re gonna be great up there tonight!”

“Geez, no pressure,” he laughed nervously, but Ezor was already caught up in chasing Zethrid down.

With all of Ezor’s shouting, it wasn’t difficult for Keith to hear the news from the back door entrance. He stopped to ask Ulaz, “Wait—is the new kid performing tonight?”

“Yeah, that’s what Coran said, and— _hey!_ ” he said, annoyed when Keith shoved past him to hunt Coran down.

He peered out past the velvet red stage curtains that blocked them from the floor. The club was already full of patrons enjoying their evening cocktails, but Coran was nowhere in sight. He stormed away, and up the stairs where he seethed at the sound of the girls fawning over Lance at his makeup station, helping him with his eyeshadow and lipstick— _pathetic_. The dancers really should be able to do their makeup on their own by their first night. It just gave Keith the uncomfortable impression that this was all a game to _Lance_. Like he was _taunting Keith_ this whole time—as if _anyone_ could just be a burlesque dancer. It was insulting to their line of work.

Keith tracked Coran down to Lotor’s office where he found Narti sitting behind Lotor’s desk, and Coran sitting on top of it.

“ _Coran_ ,” Keith all but hissed, shutting the doors behind him. Coran flinched, hopping off of the desk to avoid Keith when he stormed across the room. “You have the newbie on _tonight?_ Why? I thought you said he wasn’t ready!”

“I also said _you_ weren’t ready when you first came on, but… the two of you are very persuasive, I have to admit,” Coran said with a nervous laugh, hiding behind Narti’s chair. She let out a startled, “Whoa!” when Coran twisted the chair around. Keith dodged her as she spun in a circle. Coran took off for the doors, but Keith was already there, ready to jab Coran in the shin with the heel of his shoe.

“I don’t fucking care— _I_ was ready when I joined! Lance has never had to deal with this sort of atmosphere before,” he insisted, blocking the entrance with both arms extended. Coran rolled his eyes, folding his arms over his chest. “And you said so yourself—he’s useful backstage. Why’s he gotta be _on stage?_ ”

“I can safely say that he won’t be stealing your spot any time soon,” Coran sighed. “I don’t see why you’re worrying about this. Besides, we’ve got a performance to prepare for.”

“I’m not on until the second half,” Keith hissed, but Coran was already shoving his arms down, and pushing him to the side. “Come _on_ , Coran!”

“Enough whining. Acxa’s right—you _are_ a drama queen. And I just thought she was being over _dramatic_. Ha! That was a good one,” he laughed leaving the office and brushing fake tears from his eyes. Keith stood in the threshold, shoulders slumping before tensing with bitter rage.

He needed to talk to Matt.

Unfortunately, though, Keith didn’t find Matt until he was jogging to the left wing of the stage with the other dancers. He was decked out in sequents and wearing glitter platform heels. He stuttered to a halt when he saw Keith fuming, waiting for him at the back wall. “Look, I know what you’re gonna say,” Matt started.

“This is total _bullshit_. He’s _totally_ not ready,” Keith hissed.

“Yeah, well, that’s not really our call,” Matt said, tugging at the hem of his elastic shorts. “Look, Keith, just ignore him and it’ll be fine. I don’t even think Coran has him in any of your routines.”

“You _think?_ If he is, I’m 100% going to kick him in the balls ‘on accident,’” Keith hissed under his breath, leaning in so that he couldn’t be overheard by The Devil walking towards them. Keith pegged Lance with a glare, and then eyed Matt down, the threat still hanging there.

As Keith stalked off, avoiding Lance like the plague, Lance raised his eyebrows at Matt and pointed to where Keith disappeared. “Is… he okay?”

Matt sighed. “He will be. Now, c’mon, remember the routine?”

“Yeah—I just hope my brain doesn’t blank on me,” Lance confessed with a nervous laugh. “I’ve never had that problem before.”

“You been on stage before?”

“Oh yeah, plenty of times. Just… never in… a _speedo_ ,” Lance confessed, plucking at the hem of his glittering elastic underwear. Matt laughed and clasped Lance by the shoulders from behind, pushing him onto the stage as Coran counted off the rise of the curtains.

Truthfully, Lance wished his first experience on stage during a show was more thrilling than it actually was. He figured it would have been different had he been front-and-center, but he was still starstruck. He had plenty of practices with the other dancers, but it was entirely different with the lights, and the interaction between him and the other background dancers. He was certain his smile never left his face, and he was surprised by just how in sync he was with everyone else. He expected to be bumping into everyone, but… this was fine. Sure, twice he was off beat, but he caught up and the fact that he was far behind the main spotlight made it nearly unnoticeable, especially to the customers whose eyes were focused solely on Allura.

After the first song, it came to his attention that he was shaking so terribly from the adrenaline. Coran clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a bottle of water. “Careful with your lipstick,” he warned, and Lance nodded, breath coming out shaky. He was sweating up a storm, and was thankful that he hadn’t realized it out on stage. “You did good.”

“I did? I didn’t even notice,” Lance confessed, taking a sip of water.

“Take a few deep breaths. I had Thace put your next costume on your chair,” he said, gently urging Lance to the stairs. He took the water bottle back.

Lance was half-up the stairs when someone rammed into him from behind, squealing. _Ezor_. “How was it? You did so well!” she squealed, and Lance felt like crying. His chest was still throbbing from the energy, and he was so relieved that he hadn’t actually combusted on stage.

“It was good! Thanks for helping with my makeup and stuff,” he said, walking to his makeup table where he found the costume draped over the chair. He recognized it from other performances, and knew exactly what dance he’d be in next. Coran had him practice the exact location he’d be in on stage, and mentally ran through the routine as Ezor ran off to get changed for her performance. Lance hurried to one of the changing rooms and weaseled out of his speedo.

Lance put on his finishing touch running down the stairs—his Michael Jackson hat that mimicked everyone else in the number. He was right on time for hurrying out onto stage in the darkened lights, and partnered up with the person in his sector on the stage—a girl named Nyma, who’s blonde ponytail was pulled through the gap in the back of her hat. She winked at him, and in his frenzied state, he had the good sense to blush.

Considering they had never practiced together, it was excellent that they only had a misstep once. They giggled about it backstage, and the guilt Lance felt for stepping on her foot faded instantly. _Wow, for a bunch of semi-actors, these guys are way nicer than the people I’ve worked with on stage_ , he mused as he prepared for the next scene. It was a chorus song, which meant he’d be on stage with several other prominent background dancers. He’d be in a spotlight, and he could already feel the heat of it beating down his neck as he pulled on his shorts, strapped on the suspenders, and tipped a golden hat onto his head. He wiped his makeup off with one of the pads on his table, and brushed on golden glitter over his eyelids. He topped it off with sharp eyeliner, and the colored lipstick he had labeled _Queen_ over a strip of masking tape.

While Lance hurriedly got dressed, Keith spent his free period sulking at Matt’s table, and watching Allura frantically prepare for her fast numbers—most of her back-to-back songs required that she strip and change the second she was off the stage behind a set of curtains closest to the main stage. Some of her costumes were layered for those types of performances, but as the background dancers switched around, they were up and down the stairs all the time.

“Literally, every time I come up here—how is it possible that you look angrier?” Matt complained as he pulled off his shirt and swapped it for the one Keith held out to him.

“That’s because I _am_ angrier,” Keith remarked.

“Yeah, well, honestly maybe you need a drink. Ask Alfor for something, I bet he’d get you the vodka I know you’re pining for,” he jested, and Keith shoved him in the shoulder.

“Maybe I will. I’d rather go through this drunk than sober.”

“Please don’t. Oh my God, that would be a disaster,” Matt said, running off to his next performance as Keith headed for the bar.

At least Matt was right about one thing: Alfor _did_ give him a vodka sour, probably because he could tell just how furious Keith was about this entire night. He hated being in the second act. It just drew out the whole night. It didn’t help that at the bar, he was given a full view of the performance, and how Lance slipped in nearly seamlessly for someone who had just started practices that week.

Keith tipped the drink back and tried to ignore the horrible afterburn the vodka left on his tongue. He stuck his tongue out and hissed, “ _Yuck_! _Wow_ , okay, that was strong.”

“You asked for it strong,” Alfor laughed as Keith passed him the glass, holding the back of his hand to his mouth. “Don’t tell Coran I gave that to you.”

“What about a second?” he asked.

“No-can-do.”

“Ugh, you’re an embarrassment,” Keith huffed, and walked away as Alfor laughed behind him.

Keith was nearly past the bathrooms heading to backstage when he hesitated at the balcony door. He stared at it, and then through the stained glass windowpane where he could see the dancers on stage. He looked past Allura to where Lance dipped Nyma on stage in time with the other pairs.

Keith checked both ways before shoving through the balcony door and hurrying up the steps. He wandered up past the booths where patrons sat, and located the sound booth where he could see the performers through the glass, and the arrangement of lights fading as the song ended. Rax was standing there, headphones on, as the track merged with the next number.

“Hey,” Keith said, sliding up beside Rax with his back to the counter. He leant against it, smiling encouragingly as Rax stammered, startled to find Keith up there.

“Keith? Um, what are you doing up here? Aren’t you supposed to be—”

“Backstage? Yeah, but I’m not on until the second half,” he said, ignoring the fact that the song started up, and the lights were on, and the dancers were assembling to the sound of Queen coming through the speakers. “I’m just running errands for Coran. He wanted to talk to you about something. It sounded important…”

“Now? But we’re in the middle of a performance,” Rax said.

“I’ve got it covered. Promise I won’t mess anything up,” Keith said, and bit his lip as he lifted up his pinkie finger. Rax eyed it, and then Keith’s innocent eyes. He latched onto Keith’s finger with a groan, grudgingly pulling away from the booth. He handed Keith his headset and said he’d be right back. Keith looked off after him, absently strolling closer to the center of the booth.

_Success_ , he thought, rubbing his hands together after tossing the headphones onto the counter.

He glared at Lance, who was on stage where they had pulled out the stairs from the wall when the lights faded earlier. Allura was at the top of the stairs, descending in time with the piano stepping into the vocals. He hoped she’d forgive him for this.

Just as her arms extended to sing, “ _Each morning I get up I die a lit—_ ” the music cut off.

The silence pulsed through the club, and all that echoed were the startled clanking of glasses resting on the table. The customers looked around, and when Lance squinted up at the sound booth, Keith had already disappeared, hurrying down the steps to avoid the wrath of Rax or Coran, who hadn’t noticed because they were arguing in the back over what Coran had asked him down for.

Lance’s heart raced, abruptly embarrassed to be found lost on the stage. He had never been on stage when he could hear the audience murmuring—it was the most unnerving thing he had ever experienced. He was always used to having the music muffle the conversation, but now even Allura looked alarmed. She turned to the side, to where Acxa shrugged on the stage, and Ulaz shook his head. Acxa turned to hurry up the steps and peer between the curtains to where Coran ran over to the edge before hissing at Rax, “ _The music shut off!_ Get back up there!”

A stupid thought entered Lance’s head before he could stop it. He could hear the curtain starting to fall.

Despite all of his mother’s favorites songs being traditional latino tracks, she had always been a huge fan of Queen. He’d been listening to _Somebody To Love_ since he was in diapers, and it was impossible to forget the roadtrips where he and Rosa would scream the lyrics at Julian until their brother punched one of them. It was impossible to forget learning how to sing, and how he tackled several Queen songs that had his vocal teacher tearing up…

He tested his range.

“ _Can… anybody…_ ” he started tentatively, eyes as wide as a cat caught in the sights of a dog across the room. He looked at Allura, who stared at him as if to say, “What the fuck are you _doing?_ Shut up before you get us all murdered!”

He stared at her as he said, “ _Find me—e-e… somebody to—o… love?_ ”

The curtain was still falling.

He waited for the piano sequence to fade in his mind before taking a step down, willing his heart to slow with the sensual background vocals drifting into, “ _Each morning I get up I die a little—Can barely stand on my feet—_ ”

Lance’s eyes closed so he didn’t have to see the way Coran stopped in the corner of his eye as he sang, the curtain just mere feet above him now, “ _Take a lo—ok in the mirror and cry—Lord, what you’re doin’ to me_ —”

“ _I have spent all my years in believin’ you… But I just can’t get no relief! Lord!_ ” His vocals picked up, reaching all of the customers past the frozen curtain above their heads. He opened his eyes, arms stretching, closing, chanting, “ _Somebody—Oo, somebody—_ ”

He gestured to Allura, walking past the curtain as Coran had the stagehand start pulling it back up. She nodded, hurrying to take his hand as she pulled him, spiraling him in to the beat of, “ _Can—any—body—find—me…! Somebody to love?_ ”

He twirled to the front of the stage as the other dancers picked up their placements, morphing to the slight change with Lance now belting out, “ _I work hard—every day of my life—_ ”

His voice tensed, pulling out the stress in the vocals that had his voice wavering, lifting his voice up for the long, drawn out sequences where the push and pull of the words sent the dancers tugging him to and fro—

“— _I take home—my hard-earned pay ALL ON MY OWN!_

“ _I get down—on my knees—_ ” He falls to the ground, and he _knows_ how everyone is waiting—waiting to see just how far he can take the song when he has already won everyone over with his musical likeness to the song they all loved so much. They may have come for Allura, but they certainly hadn’t expected Lance to reach every note of the long, drawn out, “ _Can any—body—find—me…! Somebody to LO—VE!_ ”

He stood with the words, clutching at his chest as he barely had a moment to recover to the fading words in his mouth before he thrusts his arms out—“— _Everyday—I try, and I try, and I try_ —” His voice strains with it, pulling the emotion out with every breath, twisting it into a furious string of, “ _But e—verybody wants to put me down!_ ”

He storms up the steps, landing at the top where he continues, feet thumping on the floor with every beat of the song. He hadn’t even realized that the dancers were making way for him, adapting to his movements, recognizing the energy of the song as he did. He always thought he had a wide vocal range, and felt the relief of nailing the higher pitches in, “ _I got nobody left to belie—eve!_ ”

He pushed his hands out, and smiled so damn wide he could feel his cheeks aching, and his heart pulsing in his chest as the dancers had the crowd chanting, “ _Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!_ ”

They picked up on the chorus lyrics, and Lance took a quick break to catch his breath before he was singing again, descending the stairs, and letting the dancers pull him down, drawing him to the edge where Ulaz jumped down onto the floor and coasted Lance out with him. At this point, Lance knew that none of this was planned, but he could tell by the smiles on their faces that this was all according to what circumstances allowed.

Thace joined them out in the crowd, until they reached the bar where Ulaz hoisted him up onto the counter between two customers. His voice was momentarily lost at the motion, laughing a little before he picked it up again—

“ _I just gotta get out of this prison cell!_ ” He pushed his hands to his chest, stance wide, squinting in the stage lights that were suddenly on him and the bar. His legs crossed, he spun, letting his arms drop and raise as he sang, “ _One day—I’m gonna be—free—! LORD!_ ”

Thace and Ulaz hopped onto the bar on either side of Lance, and against all of Lotor’s rules, stomped on the bar to get the crowd chanting the chorus. Lance was finally used to the lights, and laughed in the light of the people all seeing _him_ , and experiencing this side-by-side with him despite all of his reservations, his nerves, his _inexperience_ with all of this. Nothing could have prepared him for how spontaneous the number was. He’d never worked with anyone as adaptive as the dancers that were on stage with him that day.

It was certainly _one way_ to recover from a potential disaster. Still, he didn’t think he was _quite_ home-free.

He took the last line to the limits, pushing yet again with the long, drawn out, “ _Somebody to LO-VE!_ ” followed by the descent of, “ _Find me—find me—find me…_ ” until he urged himself to fall silent.

The club was hardly quiet after that, while off to the side, frozen in the entryway, Keith stood completely speechless. His jaw was still on the floor, and it took an entire minute after Lance got down from the bar for Keith to recover.

But even then, no one could really recover after witnessing Lance like _that_ on stage.

_Fuck_ , Keith thought. He expected a complete trainwreck, not… _definitely_ not _this_.


	7. { somethin’ ‘bout you }

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _chin hands_ I think we all know what this is about, and how it's gonna turn out.
> 
> Keith is a pillar of salt and insecurities. Lance? He's on cloud nine--for a little while. And Shiro? When will he get over himself?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohhhhh myyy gooooodddddddd, its a weekend of updates from Mogi holy fuck. minor self-plug: updated ruins after 3 months of silence _quiet cheering_ anywhoodles, guess who can't update this week? Sarah. Instead, she's off galavanting around wherever she is with her bff (aka not me) and is like "bruh you gotta do it" and I'm like "bro i know"
> 
> lmao, she's off having fun, Nano is kicking my ass (hahaha I'm crying really I'm 15k behind omg) and well, here's some good Shklance to heal all of our hearts. ciao

Keith brought a shaky hand to his mouth. There was no way, no  _ fucking way _ that was real, he just imagined it all. It was just a nightmare, his worst fucking nightmare ever. Lance couldn’t do that, he imagined it all, there was no way. 

He struggled to breathe, hands trembling, a dark hot stone sinking in his stomach. He felt sick. His stomach gave a lurch, and Keith darted to the bathroom down the hall.

_ Fuck, shit, fucking—shit, fuck, oh god— _

He barely made it to the toilet before he was offering the bowl his meager lunch and the vodka sour he had maybe ten minutes earlier.

Shakily, he flushed the toilet and sat back on his heels. 

_ What the fuck, Kogane?  _ He thought to himself, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth.  _ What’s wrong with you? You’ve dealt with worse than this, so what if the kid has pipes, you’re still the best at this. _

Was he though? He wasn’t Narti—or  _ Lance _ , for that matter—because he couldn’t sing, all he had was his dancing. How was he supposed to compete with an upstart like  _ Lance _ ?

Keith shook his head and ran both of his hands through his hair, scraping his nails against his scalp. He took a deep breath and counted…  _ 1… 2… 3… 4…  _ and on. Grounding himself, he fought off the freak out he could let himself have later that night. He had his job to do.

He shoved all thoughts of Lance and how  _ fucking amazing _ he was at singing, pulling himself to his feet. He stumbled out of the stall, giving himself a cursory glance in the mirror before heading out of the bathroom.

Second act would be starting soon, the intermission nearly over. He could hear the celebrations happening upstairs. Scowling, he brushed past the stairs and headed towards the costume racks, picking his outfit from the numerous hangers. He figured that he would end up punching Lance in the mouth if he saw the newbie right now, so Keith headed towards the changing rooms. 

The stagehands were working on pulling in the stairs from the last act. They brought out the other platform props while Keith busied himself with getting ready. He tried not to act like he could hear the dancers upstairs, or the ones running downstairs still talking about the last number. He tried not to recognize Lance’s voice among them.

At least Matt was right about one thing—Lance wasn’t in any of  _ his _ numbers, which happened to be the majority of the second half—but that didn’t mean they never crossed paths. When Keith exited the dressing room, Lance was there. The other dressing room curtains were closed for dancers getting ready. 

“I—um, sorry,” Lance said, wincing as he circled around Keith and headed for the curtain. He was about to tug it closed, but Keith was getting ready to say something stupid, and was still standing in the threshold.

“That was…” he started, and cringed a little at the hopeful, encouraging look on Lance’s face. He didn’t get much of that around here. “ _ Good _ ,” he finished. 

Lance pouted and said, “The best I get?”

“Don’t push it,” Keith ground out, and walked away as Lance tugged the curtains closed. While Lance covered the smile on his face, Keith struggled to fight his grin off. If he wasn’t careful, people would start to think that he actually  _ cared _ .

 

. . .

 

That night, after the floor was closed up and the curtains closed for the last time, Lotor made his appearance after spending that entire night at the bar where he witnessed  _ everything _ . He called a meeting on the stage where he pulled the band members over before they could pack up for the night.

Everyone was chattering and pushing Lance around with excited smiles on their faces—they all knew what the gathering was about. “ _ Right _ , okay, everybody! Everybody, listen to me—my voice is over here—hey, is Lance talking? No, I’m talking. Everyone  _ listen _ ,” Lotor shouted, snapping his fingers over his head. He waited until everyone had their eyes on him to continue.

“So, I know you’re all excited about this new revelation. I feel like this is  _ something _ that could’ve gone in a resume had this all been a bit more  _ traditional _ … but you know what? It all worked out. And while that was a ballsy move, Lance—” He pointed to Lance accusingly, who ducked his head in embarrassment, “—you still have a spectacular voice. I took a recording of it and sent it to Narti, because she’s the vocalist, not me.”

“And what’d she say?” Coran asked, crossing his arms.

“She suggested… that Lance take her spot. The  _ entire _ spot, not just the dancing,” Lotor said, and had to raise his voice to talk over all of the commotion that ensued after that. “ _ That said-- _ Okay, everyone shut up-shut up, I am still talking!  _ Shush!-- _ That said, I’m gonna start working on new routines so we can incorporate Lance as our vocalist sooner. Lance, you’ll meet up with the band to work out what you’re comfortable singing. Hunk—you’re in charge of that.”

The man in charge of the band, a guy around Lance’s age with a wide chest and dark brown skin, saluted Lotor and said, “Sounds like a plan.”

Lotor clasped his hands together, letting out a relieved sigh as he said, “Okay, perfect. So Lance? Welcome to the team as our new vocalist!”

Everyone clapped, and Lance felt as though he was falling through a dream sequence. The people around him gave him high-fives and hugs and were suddenly inclined to  _ talk to him _ . It didn’t feel like he was the one who needed his hand held anymore—they all valued him as this new, unique part of the team that he wasn’t in before then.

That night he went out to dinner with a few of the girls on the team. He was squished into the back of one of their rusty old cars, and settled in the middle where Zethrid dropped in beside him, Matt took the driver’s seat, and Ezor fought several people for the passenger’s seat so that Acxa had to grudgingly sit on Zethrid’s lap. 

They were still arguing over what food to get when the door on Lance’s other side popped open. “Sorry I took so long guys,” Keith said as he dropped in and seemed to hug the door so he wouldn’t have to touch Lance. He stuffed his duffle between their feet.

“Okay, but why do I have to sit on Zethrid’s lap when Keith was the last one in?” Acxa complained.

“Because I like having you sit in my lap,” Zethrid said, and Lance hid his blush behind his hands as Ezor cackled in the front seat.

“I can’t believe I’m surrounded by lesbians,” Matt moaned against the steering wheel.

“Um, excuse me?” Keith remarked.

“You know what I mean,” he insisted as he started up the car and pulled out of the club parking lot.

“And suddenly we’re all women aside from Matt,” Lance said, and Acxa slapped a hand on her face as Zethrid threw her head back laughing. “I don’t think this is the worst outcome. Maybe then I would have had a reason to practice wearing heels sooner.”

“Please—I’ve been wearing heels since I was sixteen. You’re just weak,” Keith muttered, propping his elbow up on the frosted window ledge. 

“Don’t mind him—he’s just bitter because he has to share a spotlight,” Ezor said, and stuck her tongue out at the sour expression on Keith’s face.

“I don’t know about that,” Lance insisted, face flushed as he stammered out, “I really don’t think— I really don’t think Lotor won’t give me the spotlight. I’m not as good of a dancer as Keith is.”

“ _ Gaaay _ ,” Zethrid coughed under her breath. 

“I’m just stating the facts!” Lance squeaked, but Ezor was already chanting it with Zethrid. “Oh  _ God! _ I didn’t mean for any of this to happen—”

“Besides, he’s dating Shiro,” Keith said. “Stop pestering him.”

“Wait—you are?” Acxa blurted out, and the chanting stopped immediately.

“ _ No _ ! No, I’m not,” Lance insisted as the car passed underneath one of the train platforms. “We aren’t—Shiro and I aren’t dating. We’re just friends. He helped me get the job and… yeah. That’s it.”

Silence ensued. Lance felt so profoundly awkward, but he figured that not  _ all _ of his day could be good—that was just too much to ask. But still, he couldn’t help but worry that he made things weird between them, and he could feel it settling in the heat of Matt’s car.

Ezor put in a CD and cranked up the music so that the silence wouldn’t continue to swell. By the time they reached the restaurant, they were talking again, but Lance felt oddly out of place, and he wondered if it had something to do with the stiffness in Keith’s expression when they shared a look before exiting the car.

Keith tossed his duffle onto the seat after Lance got out. Lance noted that he was still wearing heels and asked, “So you said you’ve been wearing heels for a while. How old are you?” 

Keith hesitated on the curb, hands in his pockets as he surveyed Lance’s expression. He narrowed his eyes and turned away, saying, “Twenty-two. But I’ve been dancing for a few years. Before this I… worked at a—”

“Strip club, yeah. Shiro mentioned it once,” Lance said with a wistful sigh. “I don’t know much about strip clubs but… you’re an incredible dancer at Downtown Daibazaal.”

“Oh, come on,” Keith huffed as Lance hurried ahead and took the door from Matt. He held it open for the two of them as he went on:

“I’m serious! When I first came to the club I saw you on stage and I just—”

“Please don’t—”

“I was like—”

“ _ Lance— _ ”

“ _ Damn _ , look at that guy! This is the hottest thing I’ve ever  _ seen— _ ”

“Oh my God,” Keith whined, covering his face with his gloved hands. Lance laughed and tried so hard to keep himself from smiling, but it was too late. “What routine was it?”

Lance told him, and Keith looked appalled, which just had Lance laughing even harder. They lingered around the foyer of the restaurant for a while, and Ezor started interrogating Lance about irrelevant things. Keith drifted off to stand alongside Matt, and went back to being his generally-moody self.

When they at last got to the table, Lance didn’t even bother hiding the fact that he wanted to sit next to Keith. Maybe he was pushing his luck, but he liked to think that he and Keith would get along, if only so that a fraction of Keith’s talent could rub off on him. Their booth was shaped like a crescent, which landed Lance and Keith at the very middle where Matt sat on Keith’s other side, and Ezor nestled in beside Lance. 

They all had on their post-performance faces—makeupless, aside from a few smudges where they weren’t able to scrub it all off. Without their fake eyelashes, Keith’s eyes looked tired, and Lance no longer felt the urge to rub at his eyes every five seconds. Lance’s lips were still stained from the lipstick, which Acxa claimed looked like a Koolaid stain. “Wow, thanks,” Lance said sarcastically, and laughed when Acxa rolled her eyes.

Lance initially waited for Keith to strike up a conversation with him, but then the drinks came, and the appetizers, and Keith had finished two entire gin martinis and left the olives on his napkin. He looked disinterested every time Lance turned to say something, and was discouraged by Keith’s indifference. 

Eventually, though, Lance decided to  _ actually _ talk. 

“So… have you always lived in Chicago?” he asked, and Keith just sort of shrugged. “In the suburbs? That’s where I lived before this. My family still lives there.”

“Cool.”

“So where do you live now?” Lance asked, and Keith sighed, setting his glass down to grab a bit of garlic bread from the basket. Coming from a family of three siblings total, Lance learned how to be a good example even if his  _ career choice _ didn’t exactly coincide with that. Rosa had always been annoyed with how Lance would bring up issues without reservations, but inside he was always dying. He could feel himself dying when he decided that now was as good a time as never to bring it up to Keith, especially when everyone else was chatting about something else.

When Keith settled back into the booth cushions, Lance leaned in a little and said, “Look—I know you don’t really like me, and I get that, but… I seriously didn’t mean to, like, steal anyone’s spotlights or whatever.”

Keith seemed alarmed that Lance brought it up, but his shock faded into a glare. “It’s not  _ that _ , exactly. Just—never mind. You want to hear about my life? Right?”

“Well—”

“I live in a dirt-cheap apartment that’s way too far from work, but that’s fine because Matt drives me now. When I get home from work, I get naked and drink wine and pass out watching  _ Friends _ on Netflix. Is that what you want to hear?” he asked, and his sharp tone caught Matt’s attention as soon as he said “naked.”

“Whoa, hey, who said anything about getting naked,” Matt said, laughing nervously as Lance stared at his plate, alarmed. 

“He’s just pestering me about my life and I don’t want to tell him,” Keith hissed.

“Then  _ don’t _ , and you don’t have to be a total ass about it,” Matt said.

“I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Lance said quietly. His eyes started to burn before he could stop it, and he knew he had to find the bathroom, or just  _ leave _ entirely. He reached into his coat pocket as he asked to squeeze out to go to the bathroom. Matt and Keith were still arguing, and Keith slipped out of the booth as Lance stepped around Acxa and Ezor. 

“I should actually—”

“I’m gonna go,” Keith said just as Lance finished, “get going…” They looked at one another, stuck standing out of the booth. Ezor leant against the edge of the booth seat and whistled low, raising an eyebrow at Acxa, who sighed.

“Look, Lance, Keith can be an ass sometimes but don’t take it personally,” Acxa said. “And Keith? Stop being such an ass to the newbie. It’s not cool.”

“I should really go anyways. I’m meeting up with the band in the morning so I… yeah,” Lance said, wincing as he tossed a twenty onto the table and said, “That’s for my meal and you can add the tip to it. Thanks anyways, guys.”

As he started walking off, Ezor said, “See you tomorrow!”

 

. . .

 

Lance caught a bus just as it was leaving its stop, and managed to navigate home. It was bitter cold outside, and Lance’s fingers shook as he fumbled around for his keys. They continued to shake even after Lance locked his door behind him, shed his coat, and curled up under a blanket. The feeling came back to his hands after they finished tingling for a few minutes. He knew he had to make food, but he really didn’t want to move, and he was too upset to. 

He ended up falling asleep on the couch before his growling stomach woke him up halfway through the night. He laid there for a moment, thinking about how he never had to deal with people like Keith before. He never had to deal with being on the receiving end of someone’s hatred. For the most part, he took after his Ma with how likeable he tended to be straight off the bat. She taught him that life would be good if you treated everything in it well, and he always took that to heart. 

He wasn’t getting very far with Keith, though.

With a sigh, Lance pushed up off of his couch and went in search of food at two in the morning. He made a peanut butter sandwich and wrapped himself up in his bed, deep in thought.

_ Maybe Keith just isn’t used to people being nice to him _ , Lance wondered,  _ or caring about his life _ . 

The thought made Lance unreasonably upset, and he wanted so terribly to stop thinking about it. The image of Keith, all alone in his supposedly-shity apartment, kept coming to mind, and Lance couldn’t banish it. He wished they were on good terms—maybe then he could at least have an excuse for this. He didn’t  _ know _ Keith all that well, but now he wanted to.

Lance fell asleep to the thought of Keith, and Keith fell asleep to the thought of Lance, and how much of a  _ fucking idiot _ he was for making a scene like that.

Keith knew he was good at one thing—at least—and that one thing was this: being a total asshole when he wanted, needed, and likewise,  _ didn’t _ want or need to be. In other words, his default setting just happened to be Asshole Keith, and he really wished he could just turn it off. 

_ I really hope he doesn’t hate me after tonight _ , he thought, because  _ that _ would make work awkward. Keith huddled under his covers and rolled to the side, tucking his knees up as he wondered if Lance was terribly upset right now over the things Keith said. 

He didn’t exactly  _ appreciate _ his friends calling him out on his assholery, because he was  _ very _ aware of it, and he was  _ very _ aware that he needed to stop ASAP. He hated having it brought up in front of him, like his awareness of his attitude made it somewhat of a  _ joke _ to everyone. Like, “ _ Oh, there goes Keith, being mean again! Classic _ .” 

He pushed his hands over his eyes and groaned.

_ This just means you’re gonna have to apologize to him _ , he mused, but he really didn’t want to apologize for anything.

He guessed… he really  _ didn’t _ have to apologize. Maybe if they were somehow able to get on good terms after all of that, then… last night just wouldn’t exist anymore? Keith resolved to go for that route, seeing as apologizing was something he wasn’t used to, nor did he…  _ really _ have any serious experience with it. Usually it was just an off-handed comment, but as soon as apologies were applied to serious topics, his brain just sort of combusted and tended to make situations  _ worse _ .

It took an hour for Keith to fall asleep after that. His sleep schedule would be forever ruined because of his job, but that day, he woke up at nine and failed to fall asleep again. 

Keith rolled out of bed, groaning and cursing the hour. His apartment looked more like a poorly furnished, under-decorated, last-resort motel room. It smelled like cat piss most days because his neighbor owned one that went on nervous rampages at three every morning. His cabinets all creaked when he opened them, and peered in to find crumbs at the bottom of his cereal boxes, and less than a tablespoon of coffee grinds left. He reached back and pulled out a box of earl grey. It would have to do.

That morning, Lance climbed out of bed and prepared himself for the bike ride to the club. His eyes were stiff and he was in dire need of a washing, but his stomach was still aching from only having that one sandwich at two in the morning. He grudgingly ate with an oily face and oily hair and knew that he already looked like shit. He hoped his stage makeup would cover it up. 

_ I guess it’s a good thing I won’t be front and center tonight _ … he mused just as his phone started blaring  _ Single Ladies _ . 

He answered it with a somewhat excited, “Hey!”

“ _ Nice try. You sound like shit. Were you crying again? _ ” Rosa asked.

“Maybe… but it’s fine now,” he muttered, slumping across the countertop. “And I just woke up. How do you know?”

“ _ You’re especially groggy when you’ve had a bad night. We have this in common _ ,” she explained. “ _ But anyways, I’m just on the bus to school and I wanted to hear your beautiful voice. Ma misses you. _ ”

As if Lance didn’t feel bad enough.

“Well… I miss her too,” he said, but saying it made him feel like he was wringing his heart like a damp towel. He cleared his throat and rubbed his cold fingers against his hot eyelids. “Um, so, what have you been up to? Any cool projects at school I should know about?”

Rosa went on ranting for the remainder of her busride, and the remainder of the time it took Lance to make himself an omelette stuffed with peppers and spinach. By the end of their talk, Lance felt significantly better, and couldn’t help but believe that Rosa was some sort of emotional miracle worker. 

Once he was all showered and clean, the clock ticked to eight, and he could already feel his nerves tingling and sparking, the excitement of practicing with an actual  _ band _ reaching him. He threw on his under armor, his sweatshirt, his jacket, and topped it all off with his scarf that he tied securely and flipped so that the ends fell over his back and cushioned the duffle he slung across his chest and shoulders. He slipped on his boots and stuffed his hair into a hat so that his ears wouldn’t freeze during the bike ride.

No matter how much he bundled up, the wind always bit right through him and sent him shivering into the club where his nose leaked and his legs felt like noodles from the ride. He wheeled his bike into the back of the building where it wouldn’t get in anyone’s ways, and he could already see Coran pointing to it and shaking his head at Lance.

Up at the front of house, Lance heard one of his favorite artists playing, and was so thrilled that he ran out through backstage. Chances were they weren’t playing Ariana Grande just for shits and giggles—if he had the chance to  _ sing one of her songs _ on stage, he would collapse right then and there and—

He stopped as he came through the curtains on the side, and found someone standing in the one light that was on—the one that was constantly directed at the edge of the stage where the closed curtains didn’t quite reach. 

The front of the club was dark, and it took a moment for Lance to realize that Lotor was there at one of the tables. The band was in the corner, tucked away under the balcony closest to the stage. As they played the instrumentals, Narti sang, full of the emotion that plucked on the syllables of—

“ _ Somethin’ ‘bout you.... Makes—me feel—like—a—DAN-GER-OUS WOM-AN! _ ” Her arms pulled in, hands clutching to her chest as the height of her vocal range pulled her in, leaning forward with her knees bent. Her black hair fell over her shoulders, her bangs framing her shut eyes. Lance was startled by the fact that the emotions in her voice were as much of a performance as the dancers were. 

Lance slowly lowered himself off of the stage, his eyes never leaving Narti as he wandered over to where Lotor was sitting. They watched as Narti completed the number, fading out the lyrics with experimental touches. Afterwards, she lowered herself to the ground so her legs dangled off the end of the stage as Lotor, Lance, Hunk, and the other musicians clapped. 

She thanked them sheepishly before saying, “Is Lance here? I thought I heard him come in.”

“Oh! Yeah, I’m right here. You have such an incredible voice,” he told her, and she laughed a little, pinching a strand of hair between her fingers. 

“I was just testing out some of the songs you’ll be singing,” she explained. “Lotor and I put them together last night.”

“But with the Christmas season coming up, we’ll have some changes made soon,” Lotor warned him before Lance could get too excited about it. “After Thanksgiving this coming week…”

“Christmas stuff starts—gotchya,” Lance said. “But what about Thanksgiving? Do you guys usually have a big… event for that? Like, themed dances and costumes or something?”

“Not anymore,” he said, waving a hand flippantly. “I never celebrated Thanksgiving, but I tried it out a few years and it never stuck. When you take out cultural appropriation from the picture, there aren’t many costumes to choose from, or  _ songs _ , for that matter. Unless you like church music.”

“Daibazaal is closed for Thanksgiving,” Narti informed Lance. “And since we’re closed Mondays and Tuesdays, it doesn’t make sense to be open on Wednesday. So… basically all next week is free!”

Lance raised his fists into the air, but stopped the instant Lotor said, “Except for you. We have a lot of work to do.”

Lance sighed, but he figured he’d rather spend his week off doing something productive, like getting caught up and rehearsing for work. It was easy for him to predict his schedule then—work, go home, rehearse, sleep, wake up, rehearse, and then start it all over again. He didn’t have much else to do other than that, except…

When Shiro came in that day, Lance escaped from backstage and made sure to avoid all the dancers who thought they were dating— _ cough _ , Acxa, Zethrid, Ezor, Keith. He hurried to the bar where Shiro had his back to the dining room, assorting bottles of expensive alcohol on the shelves. The backs of the shelves, though, were all layered in mirrors, so Lance could see exactly when Shiro noticed him due to the smile on his face.

“So… it seems you failed to mention that you have talent,” Shiro joked.

“I have  _ many _ talents,” he teased, wiggling his shoulders as Shiro rolled his eyes. 

He turned to face Lance, who was leaning over the countertop, giving Shiro a smug smile that said he wasn’t just talking about work. Eventually his smirk dissolved into a genuine smile as he ducked his head and pretended to inspect the cleanliness of the bar. “So…” Lance started, catching Shiro’s eye, “are you… doing anything tonight? After work?”

Shiro’s smile didn’t falter as he said, “I guess it depends on what you have planned.”

“I’ll treat you to some  _ excellent _ homemade vegetable soup, and whatever else happens after that,” he said, biting his lip as he did the wave with his eyebrows. 

Shiro shoved his shoulder with a laugh, but agreed to the terms anyways. “Please tell me you didn’t bring your bike today,” he said.

“So what if I did?” Lance whined. “I’ll just leave it here if you drive.”

“You  _ really _ need to stop riding your bike to work,” Shiro told him, stepping away. He pegged Lance with a sharp jab of his index finger to Lance’s shoulder. “ _ Seriously _ . I’m not kidding.”

When he wandered off, Lance mimicked him, mouthing the words as he spun back around in his stool and stuck his tongue out at the stage. At that moment, he realized that the stagehands already raised the curtains, and Lance was yet again pegged with a glare from the star of the show. He swallowed hard, remembering just how last night went. 

_ He didn’t mean it, he’s just not used to people being nice _ , Lance told himself as he hopped off his stool and started towards the stage. The dancers were prepping for stretches, all while Keith just stood there at the edge of the stage, and stepping to the side, following to where Lance was about to climb up the side. 

“Hey,” Keith said, but all Lance could see were Keith’s heels at the level of his eyes. Keith could probably blind him with those stiletto heels… 

“Uh…” Lance said, eyeing the shoes like they were daggers before drawing his gaze up the  _ long _ length of Keith’s legs. 

Keith crossed his arms and looked away for a moment, saying, “I… was wondering ifyoustillneededhelpwithhiphop?”

Lance floundered for a moment, and hurriedly climbed onto the stage beside Keith to meet his gaze, and see that Keith was furiously blushing all the way up to his ears. “Um, what was that?” Lance said.

Keith huffed, pursing his lips before looking Lance up and down with his critical gaze, and said, “I  _ said _ , that I was wondering… if you... still need help with... hip hop.”

Lance knew his window of opportunity was closing the longer he stayed silent, and so he violently blurted out, “What!? Oh my God, yes! Yes, yes,  _ yes! _ ” 

Keith let out a sharp yelp when Lance tackled him in an unintentional hug. He nearly keeled over and died—his hugging habits would be the death of him and everyone around him. “ _ Shit! _ Oh my God, I totally didn’t mean to—”

Lance stumbled away—they were on the edge of the stage, and he ended up slipping and causing Keith to yell again, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him upright. In the process, Keith lost his balance, and they tumbled onto the floor together in a mess that had everyone else on stage looking at them. 

Lance rolled onto his back, gasping hard. He swore he just experienced seven existential crises when he almost fell of the stage, and his heart was still recovering from it when he started to hear Keith’s laughter bubbling up beside him. Keith clasped his hands over his stomach, laughing so hard that tears sprung to his eyes. He sat up, crying, as Lance whined, “ _ No… _ Why are you laughing! I almost died!”

“Oh my God—you  _ didn’t _ almost die!” Keith said, brushing his hands over his eyes. 

Coran interrupted their moment with a harsh whistle that sent Lance’s hands to his ears. “All right! Everybody, stretches! C’mon, c’mon, let’s get moving, we don’t have much time before doors open!” 

That night was one of the better performances Lance had as a background dancer, and Coran slipped him into one of Keith’s performances. Keith didn’t realize Lance was up there until Lance was charged with taking the position of the dancer who dipped Keith on stage, and held his hand up the steps of one of the decorative platforms. Lance dissolved back in with the crowd of other dancers, but he couldn’t help but feel as though he was being rewarded by being in one of Keith’s numbers.

Something had changed with Keith, but Lance could never be certain what, exactly, that something  _ was _ . Though, after studying Julian’s aggressively proud nature over the years, Lance was able to pinpoint the source of Keith’s bizarre attention to him—this was his way of apologizing, and Lance didn’t have the self-control to play coy when it came to accepting his apology. 

Lance felt like his luck just wasn’t adding up. Working at Downtown Daibazaal was such an incredible blessing, and had been from the start, and he couldn’t help but feel like something had to give. But right now… he could stand to live without worrying himself sick over it. For now, he could bask in the glory of the incredible dancers he worked with…

And the fact that he got to wear some pretty cool costumes that would have his Ma fainting at the sight of them. He supposed this all made up for his lack of a “true college experience,” but instead of dancing drunkenly in some fraternity basement, he was giving prop chairs a lapdance and wearing heeled boots.

At the end of the night, he distracted himself backstage while he waited for Shiro to finish up with work. He ended up helping Coran fix costumes again, and in the process of perching himself on one of the stools with a one-piece swimsuit on his lap, he saw someone approach out of the corner of his eye. 

“You know someone’s vagina was probably right where your hand is right now,” Keith said, pointing to the crotch of the swimsuit.

“Good,” Lance said, and attempted to wipe his hand on Keith’s arm. Keith backed out of range, and took to leaning against one of the columns nearby as Lance pinched a needle between his teeth and snapped a bit of thread off of the spool. “What’s up?” he asked, voice muffled by the needle.

“I was wondering what your schedule looks like, with Lotor having you practice and stuff in the mornings…” Keith asked, and Lance perked up instantly, plucking the needle out from between his teeth to beam at Keith. 

He ignored how hesitant Keith looked when faced with Lance’s enthusiasm. “Well, with all next week off, I’ll be free in the afternoons! And I’ll already be here, so we could practice here.”

“Monday then?”

Lance was too thrilled to form words. He nodded eagerly, and Keith laughed and said, “Well, what do you usually drink. In the mornings.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause I’ll be getting coffee beforehand, duh. As if I’m gonna be waking up before noon next week,” Keith scoffed, about to turn away. “I mean, if you don’t want anything…”

“I’m honestly good with anything—surprise me,” Lance said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall know where to find us.
> 
> mogi: [thespace-dragon](http://thespace-dragon.tumblr.com/)  
> sarah: [girlskylark](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/)


	8. { so fucking done with you }

  


  


It was impossible for Lance to forget his practice with Keith, but with vocal rehearsals in the morning, he completely forgot to bring his workout duffle. He didn’t remember until halfway through practice with Hunk and Narti, and by that point, it was too late to run and get it—he’d just have to wait until they got through the entire production for Friday where Lance was singing… and then he’d have to race back to his apartment…

Which was exactly what he did, and what a disaster _that_ was.

The winter air was starting to scorch the inner linings of his lungs every time he picked up his pace on his bike. It burned like nothing else as he scrambled down the stairs to his apartment door under the stoop and attempted to open his door in a panic. It was like the door sensed his urgency, and refused to buz him in until he calmed down enough to hold the metal piece like Shiro did for him the night before when they all but sprinted out of the snow in search of warmth.

Shiro was incredibly sweet the entire night, but then again, Lance _did_ peg him as the sort of guy to care for others. When Lance set to work heating up the soup, Shiro took over and bumped Lance onto one of the stools, saying, “Nope—you just relax tonight. I could tell today that you were exhausted.”

Lance had groaned and said, “ _Was_ exhausted. I was fine during the performance!”

A blush went across Lance’s face when Shiro leant across the island counter, and kissed his nose. “You were _perfect_. I honestly can’t wait to see how you look in Lotor’s new lineup.”

Lance was still a bundle of frayed nerves. The butterflies he got in his stomach whenever he thought of Shiro would surely be the death of him, if Keith didn’t ruin him first. How was it possible that he was suddenly surrounded by beautiful men and women? How did he get so lucky?

At least, he was lucky until _now_.

Lance pedaled through the slush as fast as he could, and skidded hard at the back door of the club. “Shit!” he squealed, scampering off his bike as it slid on a spot of ice. He stuck the landing, grabbed the bike, and wasted no time in shoving it through the backdoor and returned it to where he hid it earlier that day.

He was not going to waste another minute of Keith’s time, nope, not at all. He just got on his… well, “ _good side_ ” would be stretching a little, but still! He couldn’t ruin this before it even started.

Lance could hear the deep bass hits from whatever song was playing out on stage as he rushed around to get his life together before heading out there to face Keith’s wrath. He calmed his breathing and walked out to the floor of the club.

Keith was on stage dancing to a song that Lance hadn’t heard before, but knew that he would be getting way too familiar with it by the time his practice was over.

_“[Yeah](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S4t9AF2L4U4)—if I could go back to the day we met, I probably would just stay in bed—you run your mouth all over town, and this one goes out to the sound —”_

His body hit every beat, moving fluidly between beat the bass hits. He dragged the toe of one shoe—surprisingly a pair of converse—in a smooth circle while flicking out the shoulders of his shirt and falling into a strong stance as the next double bass hit came, popping his shoulders to it. His hair was down, and as he spun and flicked his head, it extended his movements, matching the way he swung at an invisible person before raising his arms up to pop his chest out.

His crop top rose with his arms and Lance felt a blush rise up his neck as he saw Keith’s hips and abs exposed fleetingly. As much as he saw the man nearly naked and in revealing outfits on stage all the time, there was something about the way his shirt hide and expose his skin the way it did now, fluid with the music. The glimpse was teasing, drawing him in—just like they were meant to.

“ _So fuckin’ done with the games you play—I ain’t—no—tic—tac—toe—_ ”

Keith’s feet coasted to the tapping cymbals, drifting him closer to the front of the stage as Lance stuck to the archway by the stained glass windows. He crossed his arms over his chest, as if that would keep his heart from lunging straight out of his chest when Keith’s hands crossed his shoulders, and flowed down the tangled fabric of his shirt as he rolled his hips forward. His hands dropped, framing his crotch as his knees dipped low…

Everything about Keith and his performances were nothing short of perfection, and Lance wasn’t entirely sure he could survive today.

There was a natural break in the song where Keith dropped his act, pushing his hands through his hair, and pacing back to the bluetooth speaker he had set up on the end of the stage. He picked up his phone and coffee, and noticed Lance the instant he moved towards the stage.

“Sorry I’m late…” Lance started, wincing as Keith lowered the tumbler from his lips and simply watched him. Lance twisted his duffle off his shoulder and dropped it onto the stage. “I forgot my stuff this morning and so I had to head out and grab it before work.”

Keith crouched down and picked up the coffee cup on the ground. He walked over to Lance and handed it to him before dropping to sit on the edge of the stage. “It’s fine. I needed to warm up anyways.”

Lance could feel his ears heating up underneath the beanie he wore for the bike ride. Noticing it only made them grow redder as he thought about how idiotic it would be of him to continuously compliment Keith like he wanted to. What sort of message would _that_ get across? But… everything about Keith, and his revelation the other night, made Lance want to throw his affections at Keith like wildfire spreading rapidly over the countryside.

“You, um—” Lance started, and frantically tried to think of something else before his brain could finish that thought. He didn’t think fast enough. “You looked _really_ good up there. Where did that choreography come from?”

Thankfully, Keith didn’t seem to find the compliment weird. “I don’t… I don’t really know. I guess I just sort of combined a few of Lotor’s things. Blackbear isn’t exactly the sort of music Lotor would have playing in the club, anyway.”

As Lance listened, he tipped the coffee to his lips and absolutely glowed at the taste. “What is this? It tastes great!”

“Maple pecan latte?” Keith said, and Lance took another sip, moaning as the flavor soothed his sore throat from the ride over. “You’re so…”

“What? Incredible? Fantastic? _Stunning_?” Lance offered.

“— _Weird_ ,” Keith finished, laughing.

“Huh. You’re not too bad yourself,” Lance said, and turned away to get on stage and kick off his winter boots. He pulled on his dance shoes as Keith pulled his knees up and focused on the messages on his phone. Lance couldn’t help but peer over Keith’s shoulder to see who it was that he was messaging, and sighed when he realized that it was just Matt. Nothing new there.

“You ready?” Keith asked, alerted by Lance’s disappointment. Lance turned away instantly, and pretended like he was busy zipping up his duffle bag.

“Uh—yeah, just give me a sec to put this elsewhere,” Lance said, and hurriedly hopped to the nearest table. He pulled down one of the stools and set his duffle on it, along with his coat and other shit.

As he took one last sip of his latte, Keith stood up and said, “Alright then. What did Zethrid teach you?”

Lance expected to be more embarrassed than he actually was around Keith when it came to one-on-one dance practice. Sure, it started out a little awkward, but even Keith’s judgemental atmosphere didn’t seem overly malicious. And, since Lance already saw Keith perform _do re mi_ by Blackbear, they stuck with it for that day. With Lance’s history of working with Coran and Zethrid, he could see what made Keith so incredibly different from everyone on the team.

He wasn’t a teacher, for one. He had difficulty vocalizing the moves—just a year at Downtown Daibazaal wasn’t enough for him to learn all of the professional terminology that Lotor gave during group rehearsals for the sake of general understanding. Either Keith didn’t know them, or he just didn’t care to, since he took to teaching Lance through the movements—show, don’t tell, which meant that Lance spent _far_ too long staring at Keith’s hypnotic hips that were exposed under his shirt.

“Keep your weight centered,” Keith said as Lance went up to the tips of his toes and nearly fell. Keith caught him by the arm and steadied him. “Don’t—Just… you don’t even have to stay up. Just drop right back down.”

“What about my hips?”

“Don’t worry about that for now. Just practice this since you’re awfully good at falling over,” Keith said, and Lance nudged him in the arm to shut him up.

Keith wasn’t one for teaching via physical guidance—in other words, Keith didn’t touch Lance unless entirely necessary. So when he held Lance by the hands to steady him, Lance couldn’t stop himself from blushing madly. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way Keith’s hands felt, and how soft they were in comparison to Shiro’s hand.

They spent hours going over the few minutes of choreography that Keith had come up with on the fly. Lance was secretly thankful that _do re mi_ wasn’t an incredibly fast song, it gave Lance to focus on the movements. He did his best to mirror Keith’s movements—from how he flowed from one stance to the next, from how his hips moved and enticed him closer.

Lance stumbled and fell out of sync for a second. Keith glanced at him, but upon seeing him caught up again, he kept going through the choreography.

About another hour past and Keith finally called the practice. Both of them were sweating, breathing a little harder than normal.

Keith smiled at Lance. “Good job, maybe you might just beat Ezor by next week.”

Lance groaned and sank to the floor. “Oh, come on! I have just as much leg as she does and I can totally out dance her.”

“Challenge her then,” Keith shot back over his shoulder as he made his way to his coffee tumbler. “She’ll love it.”

“Doubt it, she only gets worked up when you and Zethrid go at it.”

“That’s only because me and Zethrid are awesome.”

“ _Pff_ , as if!”

Keith sat down next to him and shoved Lance’s shoulder, the two of them laughing. It surprised him how _easy_ it was to relax around Lance. Even with Matt and Pidge, he still found himself watching what he did. But with Lance? It was like the man just wriggled his way into everyone, all smiles and happiness, warming everyone up to him. It was a fucking mystery to Keith how he did that, but for whatever reason, he found himself dropping his ‘bad boy’ act around him. Maybe Lance wasn’t as bad as Keith was making him out to be; for one thing, he wasn’t annoying--he was just loud and wanted to have fun all the time. But there was still the whole situation with Lance and Shiro. They say they’re not dating, yet the way the two of them act in public made it seem like there was a different story to be told.

While Keith was having the great internal debate of whether he was growing to like Lance or not, Lance himself was struggling to ask a simple question: asking for Keith’s number.

Why was this so hard? Why was everything so hard with Keith? (Thank Lorde his sweatpants were _loose_.) It was such an easy question. And it would make things easier when it came to, like, he didn’t know, communication? Hell, it would have been much less awkward this morning if Lance had been able to tell Keith that he was running late because he forgot his workout gear.

He looked over at Keith, and saw that he was scrolling through his phone again and sipping his coffee. Lance’s was long gone by now, as soon as he tasted it, it was a goner. He sighed and slumped backwards to lie on the stage, staring at the ceiling. The practice had been awesome and Lance felt like he was going to be dealing with sore hips and abs for awhile.

He cleared his throat. “So… you don’t have to answer this or anything, but where’d you learn to dance like this? The hiphop that is.”

Keith paused from scrolling through his phone and turned to look at him out of the corner of his eye, eyebrow raised. “Didn’t I tell you I worked at a strip club?”

Lance shook his head. “Nope, but I’ve heard rumors about it?”

Keith went back to scrolling through his phone, pulling up a knee and hugging it to his chest. “That’s basically it, then.”

Lance got the feeling that talking about his time at a strip club was probably the lowest point of his life, and some events after weren’t really any better. He let the topic go, not wanting to push Keith any further about it. What happened at the restaurant a couple nights ago was enough to teach Lance _that_ particular lesson. Everyone had reassured him that Keith was an ass first and a person second, and it was only after months and months of knowing the guy that he even remotely warmed up to any of them. Matt was basically the only exception because they were paired right away, but yeah, it took forever.

They sat in silence for what felt like forever, surprisingly relaxed next to each other. Occasionally Keith would lean over and show Lance a song, something that they could work on next. Lance had sat up to look over Keith’s shoulder as he continued to scroll through different Youtube feeds, looking for a decent song with choreography or one that struck both of them with inspiration.

“What about _Allstar_?”

Keith nearly choked on his coffee as he broke out into a fit of laughter, coughing and spluttering as he fought to clear his lungs of whatever fluid made it into them.

“You’re—you’re kidding, right?” he gasped. “Please tell me you’re joking!”

Lance grinned slyly at him. “And what if I’m not?”

Keith groaned and tipped over, melting into a puddle on the stage. “What have I done to deserve this torture? Next thing I know, you’re going to be suggesting Cascada.”

“You know…” Lance put a hand to his chin and thought about it. “That’s actually not a bad idea, Keith!”

The other man groaned, covering his face and muttering a string of exasperated curses. “You’re a meme, a meme! Goddammit, I can only handle one, don’t be another…”

_“I still hear your voice when you sleep next to me…”_

“Lance, no, stop—”

_“I still feel your touch in my dre-eams…”_

“Lance, I swear to god—”

Lance stood up on the ground, holding a fake mic in one hand while reaching out to Keith dramatically with the other. _“Forgive me my weakness, but I don’t know why—Without you, it’s hard to survi-i-i-ive!”_

“—Oh my fucking god—”

He snapped his hand up high and then down to his thigh as he began to jump around Keith on the stage. Keith stood and took the humiliation of Lance belting out the lyrics.

“ _Cause everytime we touch—I get—this feeling. And everytime we kiss I swear I could fly—! Can't you feel my heart beat fast—I want this to last. Need you by my side!_ ”

Keith groaned, rolling his eyes and dramatically turning away. But that couldn’t happen. Lance bounced around so he was in front of Keith again, snatching one hand and spinning him. Laughter bubbled out of Keith as Lance twirled him. He was still belting out the lyrics, like the total meme he was, grinning ear to ear. Keith tried, honestly, he _tried_ to keep a straight face, but there was just...something about Lance’s charisma and goofy behavior that had him laughing and dancing along. He exaggerated the spins, adding his own flare with his hips—he didn’t miss the way Lance stuttered slightly at that—and kept dancing circles around the singer.

Just like all wild things, the song came to an end and Keith and Lance standing chest to chest, panting and staring into each other’s eyes.

And all Keith could think was, _“How fucking cliche.”_

But Lance’s smile, the light feeling in his heart… it had been _so_ long since he felt this way. He didn’t want to let it go.

Stepping away slightly, just to ground himself before he floated away with Lance, Keith dug out his phone from his pocket and held it out to Lance. “Here, give me your number so you can ask me for more help—or something.”

Lance eyed the phone, but was all too eager to take it and enter his number. “Never thought the Great Keith, Number One Dancer of Downtown Daibazaal, would be offering me help for a _second time_ ,” he quipped with a smirk and handing the phone back.

“Don’t push your luck, newbie,” Keith scoffed. “You still have a lot to learn before you _don’t_ need any help.”

“Wow, rude.”

Keith chuckled and clapped Lance on the shoulder as he passed. “You’ll get used to it, newbie.”

With Keith’s back turned, Lance was able to openly admire Keith, sarcastic grin dropping into a fond smile as Lance realized that maybe, just _maybe_ , there was soft, gooey center to Keith that almost no one saw. Ever. And he was _so close_ to breaking through, he could almost taste it. It made all those times where Keith was an absolute ass to him feel muted and dull instead of sharp and searing. This was a Keith he could get used to.

“Yeah, you might be right about that,” Lance murmured.

Keith glanced over his shoulder, eyebrow raised. “What’s that?”

“No-othing!” Lance cleared his throat after his voice crack and smiled back at Keith. “We got anymore to go through or are we done for the day?”

Keith rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Nah, I think that if we tried to get you to roll your hips anymore, you might break one, so go home, Lance. We can pick this up next week.”

“Aw, c’mon, I can totally go another set! Keith, please? Pretty please?”

“No, go home.”

“Please!”

“Lance—”

“ _Keeeeiiiittthhhhh, pleeeeeeeaaassseeeee!_ ”

“Oh my god, stop, I said no, don’t you know--”

“Ugh, you’re such a party pooper!”

  


. . .

  


  


**Lance:** _Hey Keith are you awake_

**Keith:** _Hey Lance are you abusing my trust in giving you my phone number_

**Lance:** _So mean ): and yeah I am_

**Keith:** _what is it_

**Lance:** _How are you?_

**Keith:** _Oh my god Lance it’s 1am_

_Go to sleep_

**Lance:** _I don’t wanna :/_

_Besides you’re still awake maybe you need the company too_

**Keith:** _How do you know that? I could’ve been asleep and you just woke me up_

**Lance:** _o no DID I wake you up??_

**Keith:** _fuck no I’m awake_

_I’m just messing with you_

**Lance:** _So mean D:_

  


  


“What are you snickering about?”

Lance hummed from where he laid on his stomach, hands up to his pillow where his phone glowed bright in the darkness. Shiro tipped his head against Lance’s arm, prodding him to put the phone away.

“Nothin’,” Lance said, lowering his phone so that Shiro couldn’t see. “Can’t sleep.”

“Really?”

“Well, it’s not like I have performances this week,” Lance hummed. “And I’m nervous about going home tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“Julian’s gonna be back,” he confessed. Anything that had to do with Julian was either extremely fun, or horribly nerve-wracking. His younger brother had a habit of making Lance feel inferior in every way. “But I get to see Rosa… and my mom…”

“It’ll be fun,” Shiro hummed, kissing Lance’s elbow where it rested close to his cheek. Lance smiled lazily at him. It wasn’t that Lance _wasn’t_ tired—he most certainly was—but his brain wouldn’t let him succumb to sleep.

“I think my Ma would like you,” Lance whispered, turning to prop his elbow up so he could rest his head on his hand.

“Yeah? Why’s that? Does she have a thing for one-handed men?” he asked, lifting his bare arm up from underneath the sheets. Lance slapped it back down, giggling. “Parents always seemed to like me. I haven’t dated much since high school, _but_ , in high school, all the parents and teachers liked me.”

“Oh yeah? What about that guy you dated before me,” Lance said curiously.

Shiro just shook his head, looking down at the comforter as he said, “No parents to meet.”

“Shucks. Coulda been ten-for-ten,” Lance joked.

Shiro murmured something in reply, but Lance was distracted by his phone buzzing to the sound of Keith answering back. Lance lifted the screen a little, catching a glimpse of his reply: “ _You asked for it_.”

“Still doesn’t explain who you’re texting at one in the morning,” Shiro jested.

“Oh! Um…” Lance pinched his thumbnail between his teeth and looked at Shiro, gauging for some kind of prediction for Shiro’s reaction. Thinking about the implications had Lance giddy and smiling all over again. “I’m just… texting Keith. He gave me his number today at practice.”

“Really?” Shiro sounded surprised, if not amused.

“Yeah, he gave it to me for practice reasons but… it’s a start. He’s _so_ perfect I just—I can’t help myself around him sometimes. And he gets flustered so easily. Like, he looks like a tornado couldn’t push him over, but as soon as you start flirting with him, he just loses control, and—Oh, sorry, rambling.”

Shiro was smiling, though, his full attention on Lance as he nudged Lance in the arm and said, “You two would make a good couple. You’d be good for him.”

Lance dropped his face into the pillow, groaning into it as he turned into a flustering mess. Shiro laughed and continued with his unintentional teasing encouragement. “I’m serious! Lance, if Keith honestly likes you…”

“That’s the _thing_! I can’t tell with him,” he whined. “Like… I honestly just… even if he _doesn’t_ like me, I just want him… to have someone to take care of him. I feel like he needs someone to depend on once in a while. And he has Matt, and Matt’s great. I’d be jealous if Matt wasn’t straight.”

Shiro laughed, tucking his forearms underneath his chin as he smiled and listened to Lance talk about Keith. At first, Lance had been concerned about why he suddenly thought it was a good idea to talk about his crush with Shiro—they were _sleeping together_ , and Lance doubted Shiro wanted to hear about this. But Shiro seemed eager to talk about the possibility of Lance dating Keith one day.

“If I know anything about Keith,” Shiro started, “it’s that the way to his heart is through coffee.”

“Coffee? Really?” Lance laughed as Shiro nodded slowly, a confident look on his face. “Well, that’s not surprising. He always comes to practice with his little coffee tumbler. He’s also got this _Altoid addiction_ …”

“Well, if you drink coffee that often, you’ve got to have some hardcore mints to get rid of the dragon breath,” Shiro said. “His favorite mints are expensive and so he doesn’t get them very often—from what I’ve heard. It’s this small vial and the mints are these clear beads. But the taste—oh my God, it’s like… it’s like _pure_ peppermint. It’ll burn a hole straight through your tongue.”

“Where would… where would one _acquire_ such mints? Just… hypothetically speaking,” Lance asked, and wrote down the website in his phone notes so he could order some later.

Lance fell asleep sometime later, but Shiro stayed awake staring at the ceiling of Lance’s bedroom. The street lights wove patterns of blue overhead and between the ceiling beams, and so he found himself counting the number of times headlights passed down the street. The air outside of the comforter was bitter cold, so eventually, he turned to his side, and tented the blanket over his face as he watched Lance sleep next to his quiet phone.

Shiro couldn’t help but think about how close Keith was to him now—just on the other end of Lance’s phone. He remembered how his apologies fell through the void of Shiro’s number blocked in Keith’s phone. He had no reason to expect anything less, but Keith’s violent repulse towards him still shocked him to no end. Keith had waited until the moment he moved out to block Shiro’s number—he only texted to let Shiro know when he was passing through so they could avoid one another during his apartment hunting days.

Shiro knew that he had done absolutely everything wrong, but… he hoped that Lance wouldn’t ruin this chance he had with Keith. Despite how things turned out, Shiro couldn’t stop remembering just how much dating Keith meant to him.


	9. { i've seen enough not to trust }

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro is sugar daddy material in the making and Keith has a hard time saying no to gods (Have you seen Shiro? A god I tell you). So when he and Shiro meet for the first time, Keith has a hard time keeping his cool, BUT LO AND BEHOLD Keith is the first one to drop a dick joke. You tried Keith. But there ya have it, folks, it's a rom-com in the making~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, Nano is over and mogi is just dead. thats it everyone, she died, sarah now has to write this all by herself now.
> 
> jk, im still alive but barely and my fingers and brain hurt, but hey, 50k in one month? cross that off the bucket list.
> 
> and enjoy yall

Shiro and Lance woke up at five AM to the sound of a blender going off on the floor above them. Lance groaned against Shiro’s shoulder where his drool spotted the sleeve. He wiped his hand over his mouth and cheek and brushed off Shiro’s shoulder. Though, Shiro didn’t seem to mind all that much, considering he laughed at Lance’s futile attempt.

“Sorry,” Lance whispered. Speaking at a normal volume felt like a crime in the morning.

“You’re fine,” Shiro laughed, rubbing a hand over Lance’s hair. “It’s cute.”

“It’s gross, you mutant. Go back to sleep…”

They were barely settled in again when Lance shivered from the cold side of the blankets touching his bare legs. He tucked himself closer to Shiro’s warmth as Shiro asked, “When are you heading home today?”

Lance groaned and muffled himself against the pillow. “Today…?”

“Thanksgiving.”

_ Oh, right, I’m going home today _ , Lance mused. “Um… around noon, why?”

“Just wondering when you want me out of your hair,” he said.

“Speaking of hair… I need to  _ shower _ . I swear Ma will know exactly what I’ve been up to just by how my hair smells,” Lance confessed, combing his hands through his hair and grimacing at how oily it was. 

“ _ Sleep _ … We can shower later…” Shiro groaned against the comforter, eyes closed as Lance looked at him, both eyebrows raised.

“‘ _ We’? _ ” Lance repeated and laughed at the smirk on Shiro’s face. 

He settled back to sleep for another two hours, but it was impossible for Lance to relax after being reminded of the excitement that was bound to happen later that day. He hadn’t been home since shopping with Rosa, but even then he didn’t get to see Julian, and he didn’t spend all that long talking with Ma. They texted relatively frequently, and he could tell that his moving out upset her. It was more than likely that Lance prevented himself from going home for the sake of avoiding the guilt that came with it. He knew Ma depended on him—not… necessarily for anything  _ he _ understood, but mostly for emotional support. It was difficult raising three kids on her own, and when she wasn’t around to supervise Rosa and Julian, that was always Lance’s job. 

He spent so long expecting it to be like that until Rosa went off to college, but… not that he  _ was _ gone, he felt like he betrayed them somehow. He hoped his mother didn’t feel the same way.

Eventually, Lance gave up on sleeping and hurriedly shoved on some clothes to ward off the cold. He tucked the blankets further over Shiro before tugging on a pair of fuzzy socks so that he could survive the kitchen floors.

That morning, Lance and Shiro sipped coffee together on Lance’s futon, with the Christmas lights strung over their heads and morning light slowly filtering in between the gaps of Lance’s tapestry-curtain. They watched cartoons—Lance’s greatest weakness—on his laptop. 

Lance turned to Shiro after several episodes in silence and tucked his chin onto Shiro’s shoulder. 

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

Shiro sighed and said, “I don’t celebrate Thanksgiving.”

“Don’t  _ celebrate _ or don’t  _ approve of _ Thanksgiving—because those are two  _ very _ different things,” Lance said. 

“Both. I used to celebrate it, but my family’s been a bit scattered since I left,” he explained.

“You haven’t told me much about your family.”

“Not much  _ to _ say,” he said with a sigh. “Let’s see… mom and dad—happily married for thirty years—and then there’s my little brother… Ryou… My parents had him when I was just leaving middle school so there’s a huge gap between the two of us. When I was leaving high school he was barely in middle school.”

“Damn. So you two must not’ve been very close,” Lance said. He and his siblings were born just a few years apart, and so he was accustomed to always having someone to look after. He was always watching after them before and after school because their schedules were nearly always the same aside from sports.

“Well… I wouldn’t say  _ that _ . I’ve always loved children and I never minded taking care of him. Ryou’s always looked up to me. So in a sense, I was more like… a parent figure to him? It never felt like we were directly related, either… This probably sounds strange.”

“No, definitely not. I have a large family outside of Rosa and Julian, but we’re all so close. I have a cousin who was sort of put into the same position as you—her brother calls her ‘Tía’ these days.”

Shiro laughed and said, “I’m definitely  _ not _ like an uncle  _ at all— _ ”

“Uncle is more of a  _ feeling _ than a—”

“You’re so ridiculous!  _ Lance! _ ” 

Before Lance could go on tormenting Shiro, Shiro interrupted him with a gentle smile and a reverent, “I’m glad that I met you, Lance.”

Lance beamed at him and lunged forward to envelop Shiro in a tight hug. “Glad I met you, too—and that you scared off that one drunk guy,” he said, giggling against Shiro’s neck as they both laughed and held one another in the kitchen.

That afternoon, they both bundled up in their winter coats, and Lance packed a backpack full of things he would need for staying the night at his Ma’s house. Shiro tucked hand into his pocket as he stood on the sidewalk, waiting for Lance to finish locking up the apartment.

Shiro walked him to the bus stop where they stood together for a while talking about mindless things—specifically, why pigeons were more fearless than most humans. Chicago pigeons were a fierce bunch, and Lance haphazardly kicked at a flock of them sitting on the snowbank.

“They never did anything to you,” Shiro said.

“I nearly ran one over once on my ride to the club,” he said, scowling as the pigeons floated off a few paces down the sidewalk from them. “They just know how to push my buttons.”

“Don’t blame them for being the way they are. They’re just birds,” Shiro insisted. 

Lance got so worked up chasing the pigeons that he barely noticed that the bus had turned the corner until Shiro shouted at him from the stop. He ran back, flinging himself at Shiro one last time as the bus pulled up and opened its doors to him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow for your big debut,” Shiro promised. “Have fun at home!”

“Okay! See you then,” Lance said, and hurried up the steps. 

He scanned his bus pass and hurried to take a seat as the bus pulled away from the curb. He swayed and fell into the nearest spot, flinging his backpack onto his lap where he pulled out his phone from the side pocket. The first thing that showed happened to be a series of texts from Keith following from the moment Lance fell asleep to now. 

 

**Keith (2:13 a.m.):** _ So I realize now that Stranger Things at 2am in a shitty apartment is a bad idea _

**Keith (2:25 a.m.):** _ Have you seen it _

_           Lance _

_           Did you fall asleep _

_           You fell asleep _

_           Traitor. _

**Keith (5:54 a.m.):** _This is what happens when I don’t have work tomorrow_

_            Or practice with you _

_            Probably a good thing otherwise my sleep schedule would be screwed for this weekend _

**Keith (7:23 a.m.):** _ Are you awake now? _

_            Matt’s annoyed with me texting him this early _

_            I was wondering if you wanted to grab some coffee later _

**Keith (9:30 a.m.):** _ Nm _

**Lance (12:12 p.m.):** _Ah! Sorry for not getting back—I’m heading to my mom’s house for Thanksgiving._

_            Now I’m really craving coffee hnnggh _

**Lance (12:35 p.m.):** _Are you ignoring me because I didn’t respond all morning_

**Keith:** _ Yeah. _

**Lance:** _D:_

_            Keithy nooo _

**Keith:** _ How’s it feel being ignored _

**Lance:** _ You were just accusing me of abusing my power over you _

_            O how the turntables _

**Keith:** _It’s… tables turn_

**Lance:** _ I’m referencing The Office you nub _

**Keith:** _ In case you haven’t noticed I am v behind on most things that are assumed to be basic knowledge at this point… _

**Lance:** _ Maybe it’s because you matured fast for your age.  _

_            I’m still maturing, in case you haven’t noticed :P _

**Keith:** _ I’ve noticed. _

**Lance:** _Wow thanks so much for your support_

**Keith:** _ It’s amusing _

**Lance:** _ What is _

**Keith:** _ Your immaturity _

**Lance:** _ (middle finger emoji) _

 

Keith laughed out loud and slapped a hand over his mouth, as if that was capable of covering up just how much fun he’d been having with Lance. It was mostly habit at this point to try and cover it up. The last thing he wanted was to fall too hard all at once, but thinking about it just made him realize that was exactly what he was doing. He was having trouble coping with it, especially when he still felt everything he did for Shiro a year ago.

Keith knew that no one could compare to the support system that was his ex-boyfriend. There wasn’t a heart-breaking underside to their relationship that Keith was so used to before. Shiro was… a breath of fresh air.

At Downtown Daibazaal, it was obvious to Keith that he performed as well as he did because he wanted Shiro to notice. Seeing Shiro’s eyes on him from the bar gave Keith a reason to breathe clean air again. It was a snippet of what they were, and how  _ good _ Keith felt when they were together. 

He never considered himself to be clingy or abusive in those sorts of ways—dependent on other people, needy, and self-centered. He was raised to be independent, which just made for a series of horrendous relationships that were both quiet and hostile. It bothered his partners that he never opened up, but Shiro was always okay with that. Keith was used to partners being interested in his profession, and Keith  _ knew _ that it was just some fetish of theirs’ to be dating a stripper. 

Shiro was indifferent about it, though. 

In fact, Shiro didn’t know where Keith worked the day they met. 

There was no way to gauge  _ when _ , exactly, they met, though. One day they just happened to bump into each other constantly. At first, it was just distant glances, realizing that “Oh, I recognize that person from the street yesterday,” and then again at the grocery store they frequented, thinking, “That’s the person who lives down the block from me.” It was around that time that Shiro moved into Keith’s neighborhood because it was cheap—not necessarily because it was close to work at all, unlike how it was for Keith.

For Keith, his shitty neighborhood at the time was both cheap and convenient. It was in the market of neighboring bars and strip clubs, and more than once his landlord had to fight to keep the place from being demolished. It was another one of those circumstances where the city wanted to improve the area, yada-yada-yada, but the shitholes around there wouldn’t have it. It would forever remain grimey until development would forcefully takeover. But for now, it was just a few blocks away from his work, and it was easy to walk there and back without having to travel incredibly far, or even use the transit system.

When Shiro moved in, their schedules overlapped. They both worked late nights, and for Shiro, it was even later—his commute to work wasn’t exactly a walk away, but instead a drive away. He’d get caught in 2AM drunken traffic, but it was better than paying more than his apartment was worth. 

They ended up at the same grocery stores, at the same gym, and even the same  _ coffee shops _ . Keith spent most of his “mornings” there (if you considered  _ noon _ to be  _ morning _ ), and so he’d see Shiro on occasion. He’d be lying if he said he never stared. Shiro was  _ definitely _ something to look at, and Keith loved every bit of Shiro’s strong jawline and smile lines. The Greek-statuesque structure of his nose and cheekbones. His brow, his eyes, all the way to the shadows underneath them. 

His hair was black, and it was greying even then. His family had a history of premature greying, and so Shiro never bothered to cover it up. “It got worse after I got back from the service,” he would say, self-consciously combing a hand over the spot above his forehead. 

Keith could never help himself. He’d reach up and brush his hand over Shiro’s, and follow through with the motion of weaving his fingers through Shiro’s hair. “I love it—it makes you look mature,” he always said.

They never  _ really _ talked until Keith was in the produce section at the grocery store, dreading everything that had to do with shopping. He hated shopping for necessities. He hated shopping in general. He was frugal, and Matt always bickered with him about it. Keith certainly had the money to afford a better place to live, but he didn’t mind dealing with failing electricity, or shitty plumbing systems. He never felt like he was  _ meant _ to live in a place that worked properly. He never felt like he was  _ meant _ to meet someone as perfect as Shiro.

Keith’s cart bumped into one of the apple displays on his way to the fruit, and so he left it stuck there while he went to bag some oranges. He came back and wrenched the cart free from the display, and wheeled it over to the bananas. He felt a stranger beside him, and saw the man’s hand reaching over to check the skins of the bananas to find one that wasn’t quite ripe yet. Keith was doing the same, so naturally, their hands eventually found one another over the perfect bunch of bananas.

“Oh—sorry,” the man said, and Keith vaguely recognized it from the coffee shop when he’d purposefully overhear the man’s order, and purposefully wait for the man’s name to be called. 

Keith looked up at him, and couldn’t believe his luck. His heart nearly slipped straight through his ribcage and fell among the fruit.  _ Don’t fuck this up _ , he hissed.  _ Just talk to him! _

“I dunno, you’re moving pretty fast there—already touching my banana and everything,” he said, and took the bunch of bananas and ran for it before his brain could start screaming at him. 

Keith was just dumping the bananas into his cart when Shiro said, “Sorry—I would usually offer to buy you coffee first, but I got a little carried away.”

Keith scoffed and turned around with his hands on his hips. “ _ That’s _ a bit presumptuous,” he laughed, and was flattered to find that Shiro’s cheeks turned pink.

“You’re right—still too forward,” he said, and they both laughed about it, and continued to smile about it even when they went their separate ways.

Exactly the next day, Keith stuck around the coffee shop to avoid the ruckus his neighbors were making in the apartment next door. He had barely sat down to drop his things off when the chair across from his was claimed by one hand, and that dangerously handsome smile saying, “Is this seat taken?”

Keith wondered just how wide his eyes were to make Shiro laugh then. “I—um, no, you can have it,” he said.

“I mean: Can I sit with you?” Shiro repeated. “And buy you that coffee I offered yesterday.”

“I… didn’t think you were serious?”

“Not entirely, but I am now. So?” he asked, gesturing to the chair again. Keith reconsidered the proposal, and gave a curt nod of consent. 

Keith gave Shiro his order, and the moment Shiro turned away to pay, Keith sat down at their table with a hand over his forehead. It felt incredible to know that someone like this beautiful stranger would show interest in him, but at the same time, he couldn’t help but feel guilty for giving into the temptation. The closest he ever came to “treating himself” happened to be the days he went in for coffee, but even that was starting to turn into just another daily, monotonous routine.

It became a regular occurance. If they bumped into each other at the coffee shop, Shiro would either treat him to another cup, or sit and chat for a while before one of them had to leave. At first, Keith convinced himself that Shiro was likely lonely and just looking for a pretty face to talk to, but it never felt fake like that. Everything they talked about was genuine, and even their silence was filled with comfort. Keith never felt the need to try and impress the guy, and he felt comfortable knowing that Shiro never had to know where he worked.

They were fast friends, but some might have called their romance a bit on the slower side. Keith didn’t mind, because he loved being pampered by Shiro’s affections, and returning them to the best of his abilities. He couldn’t remember a time when he ever opened up so quickly. High school had been unbearable, and was one of the reasons why he dropped and worked at a shitty restaurant while he earned his GED instead. After that was taken care of, he was eighteen and already  _ too _ familiar with pole dancing from the classes he took on the side. He got a job at a stripclub, and that was that.

Of course, all of his partners wanted to know what it was like, but Shiro never asked until after they’d been dating for several months. They’d been watching a show, and the topic of it brought the question to Shiro’s mind. 

“You’ve never told me where you work,” he said. 

Keith could tell that the casualness was implied. That he didn’t have to answer if he didn’t want to. But the question would have been so innocent had his answer  _ not _ been. 

“You  _ really _ wanna know? It’s not really  _ important _ …” he started, looking down at their joined hands. Keith took to leaning against Shiro’s right arm, so that they were linked at the elbow, and Shiro could reach over with his left hand and link their fingers together.

“I guess I don’t really need to know,” Shiro hummed, offering a shrug as he picked on Keith’s defensiveness. 

They continued watching for another five minutes. The words were right on the tip of Keith’s tongue, until the subject was no longer relevant, and his mind still wanted to say it. Why did his profession feel so  _ heavy _ all of a sudden? He never looked beyond the money it gave him, especially when he started out. It numbed him to the bizarre fact that stripping was  _ allowed _ to be a common occurrence. Sex was just so desired that it appealed to the masses, and provided jobs for people like Keith to sell their bodies on stage.

“I’m a stripper,” Keith said, realizing that he’d been staring at Shiro’s face long before he said the words. 

Shiro looked calm before Keith said that, and then he laughed. “Right,” he said, smiling until he looked down at Keith, who’s chin was pressed to his shoulder. “You’re not kidding. You’re a stripper?  _ Really? _ ”

His voice showed his astonishment, and Keith mistook it for anger, and pulled away slightly as if the tone had bit him. “Um, yeah, I am. I just—it’s always been a huge  _ deal _ and I didn’t… I like not having to talk about it with you,” he confessed, and cleared his throat as he resituated himself. He couldn’t look at Shiro. “And I’m just a dancer—I don’t get paid to do anything beyond lapdances and shit.”

“ _ Really? _ ” Shiro blurted out, leaning to keep their hands together. He gave Keith’s hand a squeeze and said, “Well, I mean, that’s not the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard. Apparently there’s people who get paid to bury dead bodies so that they decompose, and then they dig them back up to study the decomposition.”

Keith snorted before he could help himself. He leant back into the armrest and shook his head, laughing, “ _ Seriously? _ That’s so weird! Do you think they, like, are caught by random strangers walking by who’re all like—”

“Oh, definitely not. They probably have it in a controlled setting so no one can go near it—don’t you think?” Shiro said, and laughed when Keith slapped his free hand over his face. “I’m serious! And apparently there’s people who get paid to count the average number of bubbles in Cheerios.”

“You’ve  _ got _ to be kidding—”

“I’m not! And I mean, sex  _ is _ a huge part in our society whether we like it or not and so, I mean, exploit it if you want. If people are willing to give your their last paycheck to see you dance then I say go for it,” Shiro said.

Keith still had his hand on his face, and took to nibbling on his thumb nail as he watched Shiro talk. He looked away after and hummed, “Yeah, that’s kinda what I was thinking out of high school. I can’t believe how horny people are that they’ll fork over a hundred bucks in a night just to see my ass.”

Shiro mimicked Keith’s hum, tipping his head back on the couch cushion as Keith rapidly shook his head. “Oh God—Sorry, you probably… don’t want to hear shit like that.  _ God _ . And sometimes it feels like we’ve just been dating for a week and it’s still all so  _ new— _ ”

“Keith,” Shiro said, giving his hand a shake. “Keith, it’s fine.  _ Honestly _ . I’m okay with it. If anything I’m just worried about your safety because I’ve heard  _ plenty _ of horror stories. Just… let me know if anything happens? And, I mean, I don’t know  _ much _ about strip clubs, but… as long as you’re  _ clean _ …”

“I am! I would tell you if I wasn’t, I promise,” Keith said quickly, eyes wide at the implication. Of course Shiro would go there instead of the jealousy route. “And I know what to look for and my hygiene is—”

“Flawless. I’ve never seen anyone with as many hand sanitizers as you,” Shiro said, and Keith rolled his eyes. “And you really don’t skimp out on your body washes, I have to say.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Keith laughed, shoving Shiro by the shoulder before leaning in to press his forehead against it. “Are you really okay with it?”

Shiro wrapped his arm around Keith and pressed his cheek into Keith’s soft hair. “Of course I am. And honestly, I’m in no position to judge considering I work at a burlesque club. I mean, I’m not a dancer by any means”

“I could  _ not _ imagine you dancing,” Keith said.

“Really? Because I used to be in ballet—when I was younger!”

“Why are you Dwayne The Rock Johnson in  _ The Game Plan _ ?” Keith cried, hiding his face further between Shiro’s shoulder and the cushion as they both fell on top of each other laughing until their stomachs hurt.

Keith figured that would be the end of everything that had to do with his job—they wouldn’t have to talk about it after that. Things changed, though, and it took a while for Keith to realize that it was for the better. Gradually, he was able to answer Shiro’s question, “How was work?” with something other than, “Fine.” 

It started off feeling constricting. Talking about  _ stripping _ wasn’t exactly a public conversation to have with his boyfriend, but walks to the coffee shop became filled with that and everything to do with the choreography Shiro worked on with his boss—which wasn’t exactly “polite,” either. Regardless of the small stories Keith provided as windows to his workplace to Shiro, he never confessed the name of the club until nearly a month later when things started to go… downhill.

Keith was used to dealing with shitty customers—it came with the job description. He wasn’t exactly afraid of conversation either, but conflict definitely  _ wasn’t _ part of his job description. He left that to the security, and he wasn’t sure what he did to deserve the shitty looks he was starting to get from them, but people started to notice besides him. 

He had one specific regular that really made his skin crawl some days, but other days, the customer was a fairly okay guy to tolerate. Keith tolerated most of the customers, but one thing he could  _ not _ tolerate was filth. This particular guy had a habit of coming in after a long day at work without taking the effort to freshen up his deodorant. The fact that Keith knew his name was just another reason to never forget him—he was adamant on letting all of the dancers know to call him by his name: Richard Sendak.

Keith wasn’t exactly a fully-seasoned stripper, but he had a few years under his belt before he and Shiro’s lives merged together. He learned how to lie long before then, which made telling stories even easier. The amount of times he was taken to the bar and asked about his sex life were far more than he cared to count, and at the start he said, “Oh, I’m not dating anyone… so…” He learned from observing the other dancers that this was certainly _ not _ the way to go. He learned to navigate conversations like a chessboard. If they asked about his sex life, he had to gauge their expressions to decide what story they wanted to hear—“I’m actually in an open relationship with my three hot girlfriends” or “I’m not in a relationship because that suggests I want something more than sex” yada-yada-yada. 

None of his “coworkers” at that particular club accepted money for sex, and he wasn’t any different. He never really talked to them all that much—they minded their own business, and for the most part, they were all just there to make money because such-and-such fell through. Mostly, they were graduates with useless degrees that couldn’t get them jobs, and he could tell that they found him to be incredibly immature for being a kid straight out of high school who only had a GED under his belt. They all paid to work their share of nights under the assumption that they wouldn’t have to be all buddy-buddy with the other staff members (aside from the bouncers). And he used to be on the bouncers good side, but he wasn’t sure what changed specifically. He may have been an observant guy, but when it came to understanding where he went wrong… well… that was another story. 

The client Keith dealt with grudgingly most weeks was impossible to forget for more than just a handful of reasons. Hygiene was an issue, and it wasn’t as if Sendak wasn’t familiar with client standards—he frequented other strip clubs from what Keith understood from other “coworkers” who complained about him. He had the physique of most of the ex-football players on the security team, which just made him all the more intimidating to deal with.

“I wish he didn’t pay the host so well,” one of them commented after a night Keith narrowly escaped being wrangled into a lap dance with the man. That was one of the last nights the bouncers stepped in. “Bet that guy wouldn’t get in if he stopped flashing fifty-dollar bills at the hosts.”

“You really think he tips the hosts that much?” Keith asked.

“He  _ definitely _ does,” he said. 

Keith had his suspicions that the client started paying off the bouncers. He couldn’t even imagine how much that would cost—he never heard of bouncers being bribed, so Keith fell in and out of convincing himself that this was how it went. It absolved him of any blame on his part towards the security. The security delayed reprimanding the client on the “hands-off” rule, and then they stopped reprimanding altogether. Thankfully, though, the workers had just as much power when it came to telling customers off, and everything about that man had his skin crawling.

“I don’t understand where he gets this money,” Keith seethed the following day as he and Shiro waited at the end of the counter for their coffees. “I talked to the host about blacklisting him but… he forks over three hundred a  _ night _ just to  _ me _ or whoever else he gets ahold of.”

“You really think Sendak paid off the security?” Shiro asked, raising an eyebrow at Keith. He shook his head. He didn’t know. He didn’t know what was going on with this  _ single _ customer. It would have been different had it been a slew of customers, and the security was maliciously doing this to get a rise out of Keith. “I thought you said they were just…”

“I know I did. They all seem like good guys, you know? Like, it’s not like they have shady backgrounds. They’re just a bunch of… retired football and rugby players,” Keith sighed, scratching the back of his head.

His name was called, and so he went to fetch his drink and decorate it with a touch of half and half. “Have you considered moving clubs?” Shiro asked.

“Not really. I mean, it’s just one guy…”

“Yeah, one guy who could potentially do… who  _ knows _ what,” he insisted. “Keith—I don’t think it’s safe for you there. What if another rich guy comes along and pays off the security again?”

Keith thought about that.  _ God _ , had he thought about that. The man hardly  _ looked _ like the type to be carrying around that sort of cash. If he was willing to cough up over a grand for a splendid night alone with one of the dancers… Keith was convinced that at least one of his “coworkers” would accept the offer. 

_ But there’s plenty of sex workers who do that for a living. Why harass the dancers? _ he asked himself.

_ Because sex workers aren’t paid to be coy. Maybe he likes the chase, _ he rationalized, shaking his head.

“I’ll be fine, I think,” he insisted, waving his hand dismissively before putting the cap back onto his thermos. He gave Shiro a smile. “Really.”

“Let me know when you aren’t fine, okay?” he said, and Keith nodded. “Really, Keith, I mean it. Let me know?”

“Yes, I’ll let you know. I promise,” he vowed, and jokingly crossed his fingers over his heart. 

Keith was right about one thing, and it was that Richard Sendak definitely  _ wasn’t _ the sort of guy to be carrying around that kind of money constantly every week. He fell off the radar for a while, and so life at the strip club was back to normal. Keith would even go so far as to say that it was  _ great _ . He really did love dancing, and had a knack for pole dancing after discovering it late in the class he originally took out of high school. It was a major workout, which meant that after late nights, he and Shiro would collapse, too exhausted to do anything other than sleep. 

After a month or so, though, Sendak came back with money again, and more bad intentions. The change was so abrupt that Keith was shocked to even see him there without warning. He wasn’t on his guard like he used to be, and wound up being pegged down by Sendak for a drink and a dance. Keith was used to drinking on the job, but he definitely  _ wasn’t _ used to being ordered around—yet another client standard Sendak was breaking.

“If you keep ordering me around like that, I might start to get the wrong idea from you,” Keith told him at the bar, keeping his upbeat, flirty attitude even when the client merely winked at him in reply. 

_ He probably just thinks you’re encouraging him _ , he told himself.

“I don’t do well with taking orders, you know,” he said.

“Not as tame as you make yourself out to be,” Sendak said as he handed the bartender twice the regular cost of the drink, plus the tip. Any drink customers bought for the dancers was usually more expensive, since the dancers divvied up their cash at the end of the night between the staff and the DJ. 

“You’re…  _ presumptuous _ ,” Keith said through gritted teeth as he took the drink and downed it. The entire time, Sendak watched him with those wide, watchful,  _ unnerving _ eyes.  _ And unobservant for someone who likes to stare _ , Keith thought to himself as he set the glass down and dabbed a napkin over his mouth.

Sendak wasn’t nearly as unpleasant as previous nights. Keith noticed that, despite the sudden disinterest in the security guards’ eyes, the customer was being almost…  _ pleasant _ . Pleasant to the point that Keith was surprised when the man kept his hands to himself regardless of the rich hunger in his eyes that made Keith feel like he was wearing nothing at all.

After Sendak left and made his rounds with the other stages in the club, Keith stood to the side of his stage with his stomach twisted in knots, and his flesh covered in goosebumps. Nothing felt right. After Keith was so sure he had this guy pegged, he comes back after disappearing, just for a drink, a lap dance, and a casual stroll around the other dancers?

That night, Keith left the club shortly after the other dancers changed and put their things away in their lockers. He zipped his leather jacket all the way up the collar, so that he could wrap his scarf around it and tie it in the front. He waved farewell to the dancers that mattered to him based on how frequently they saw each other, and then took to the back exit. 

He barely stepped out the door before he realized that Richard Sendak was waiting out by the cars.

Keith’s heart leapt into his throat as he backtracked before the client could see him. He hurried into the backroom again, away from the door window as a group of the dancers came out from the locker room.

“What is it?”

“The Dick’s waiting out there,” Keith said, stressing the codeword so that they knew who, exactly, he was referring to.

“Are you kidding? What’s he doing out there?”

“I wouldn’t want to know.”

“Should we call Craig over to chase him off?” someone asked, but the thought about involving the security guards with this particular client had them all weary. None of them know the exact deal that was going on under their noses, but they were certain that even the head of security wouldn’t be willing to do much.

“Keith, do you want a ride or something? We were all just gonna carpool, but I don’t mind the detour,” one of the guys said, but Keith waved him off with a gracious smile.

“No, I’m fine. I was just planning on calling my boyfriend,” he confessed, and pulled out his phone to do just that.

The other dancers left, and Keith ignored how shaky his hands were. He blamed it on not having eaten much for dinner. Shiro’s phone rang and rang—he was probably either sleeping, or just getting back from Downtown Daibazaal if he had inventory to do. When it went to voicemail, Keith tried his luck and called again.

Shiro answered after the first ring.

“Sorry! Sorry, I couldn’t get to it fast enough,” he cried over the line, and Keith laughed.

“It’s fine. Sorry about calling so late… Are you home?” he asked.

“Yeah, what’s up? Are you on your way back?”

“I would be, but that  _ asshole’s _ hanging out around the parking lot. He left the club over an hour ago so I don’t know what he’s doing here. The other dancers just left and I just…”

“I’ll be over in a minute. Don’t go outside,” Shiro ordered, and Keith promised not to move until Shiro texted him the moment he arrived in the parking lot. 

Keith paced the backroom until he heard a car pull up outside of the door. He waited for Shiro’s text before making a run for it. It was essentially a criminal drive-by, like in one of those ridiculous movies he and Shiro used to watch after work when they needed the background noise to fall asleep to. Keith tossed his duffel into the back seat and twisted around to see Sendak step out from between the cars, watching after their vehicle until they turned the corner, and disappeared from sight. 

“What the hell is going on with that guy? I thought he disappeared or something,” Shiro said, looking wide-eyed at Keith. 

Keith shook his head, out of breath. He had no clue, and his adrenaline was too high to even bother letting him talk properly. He stared out the window until the lull of the streetlights calmed him. Shiro pulled around the apartment building into the alleyway where the garage was, so that when Keith got out of the car and fetched his duffle, the motion sensor lights flickered on over their heads. It reassured him that they were home, and safe, and that the guy was far off behind them.

Keith slung his duffle over his shoulders and hurried to where Shiro was walking around the hood of the car. He crashed into Shiro, his arms tight around Shiro’s torso as he said, “Thanks for picking me up.”

“I’m glad I did—I’m glad you called me,” Shiro said, kissing his lips to Keith’s messy hair. He breathed in the scent of Keith’s ridiculously overpriced hairspray and said, “Call me  _ whenever _ you need help, okay? I don’t care if I’m at work or asleep or whatever. Just call me.”

“I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come fight
> 
> Sarah: [girlskylark](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/)  
> Mogi: thespace-dragon


	10. { in the middle }

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanksgiving leads to a whole lot of disappointment, I can tell ya that much, but HEY at least Rosa gets to play matchmaker ;)

 

Lance leaned over the bathroom sink in the house he spent his childhood in. He pulled on his lower lip, frowning at how dry they were. The edges of his lips were lined with dry flecks of skin. He hated having chapped lips, so he lathered on all of the chapstick he could before nearly dropping the stick in the sink when Rosa popped up in the doorway.

“Jesus! Don’t scare me like that,” he whined.

“You’re off your game,” she laughed, crossing her arms as she tipped her hip against the doorframe and added, “Usually I’m never able to scare you.”

“I thought we were past that game…”

“Never. Julian’s off his game too. I’ve got him twice since he got back,” she said, and shimmied her shoulders when Lance glared at her. “Oh, come on. It’s fun!”

At least, it used to be fun. It was why he started the game in the first place when they were little. They had a running tally of how many times they were able to successfully scare one another. Lance never thought he’d grow out of it so fast, but… he never had a reason to feel scared in his apartment with Shiro around. And Shiro wasn’t exactly the sort of guy to go actively scaring Lance. If anything, Shiro kept Lance from feeling like every shadow was a monster.

“You have a look on your face,” Rosa said, and grinned when Lance glared at her.

“I mean, I  _ hope _ I do. What look are we talkin’ about, though?” he asked.

“I don’t know. You just look sorta happy.”

“Like I wasn’t before?” he laughed, setting the chapstick in his toiletry bag.

“I don’t know. I know hanging around here was kinda… bumming you out,” she confessed, dropping her voice as if their Ma was standing right around the corner, waiting for someone to talk smack about living there with her. “You look better now, though!” she insisted.

“Yeah, but I mean… have things been okay here?” he asked, and she shrugged a little. “You’re gonna have to give me more than that.”

“It’s quieter, yeah,” she said. “But I don’t mind the quiet as much as I thought I would. I’m able to focus more on homework without  _ you _ breathing down my neck asking what I’m doing.”

“Oh, come on, you love it when I bother you,” he laughed. He turned around and pushed himself up onto the bathroom countertop. “How’s school been?”

Rosa raised an eyebrow at him, but agreed to tell a story or two while they waited for their Ma to call them into the kitchen. She strolled into the bathroom and hopped up onto the counter, on the other side of the faucet so that she could lean back against the mirror, and hook her foot against the lip of the sink between them. Lance smiled and listened to her talk about her high school drama—he never had a crazy high school experience, and so he tended to live through her stories of chaos. She had already experienced the food fight he always wanted to start but was too weak to do so. On top of that, someone in the grade above her was already pregnant, and another nearly died following a drunken teepeeing event. 

“—And so I met some of her sister’s college buddies and they all thought I was  _ graduated _ , like I was in her  _ sister’s _ grade. Can you believe that? Do I even look that old?” she asked, dragging her hands over her face. “I always thought I had Mama’s eternal youthfulness.”

“She’d love to hear you say that,” he laughed. “And also, they really shouldn’t be eyeing up a sophomore in high school.”

“Yeah, but they thought I was a sophomore in college.”

“Regardless…”

“And it’s not  _ my _ fault that I look and act mature—”

“ _ Act _ mature?”

“I do!”

“I have to agree with Rosa on this one,” Julian’s voice sounded from down the hall. Lance leaned out to look through the door, but Julian already beat him to it. 

Lance’s younger brother swung out and leant into the bathroom, expression bland and disinterested. “Between the two of you, she inherited all of the maturity,” he said.

Lance’s jaw dropped, and Rosa gasped out a thrilled laugh. “¡Oye, cállate Julian!” Lance whined, leaning over to shove Julian out of the bathroom when all three of them cringed at the sound of their Ma’s voice. 

“ _ LANCE! _ ” she yelled, startling Lance into falling off of the counter and straight into Julian. They both shrieked as they staggered together into the hallway, and froze when their Ma’s shadow fell into the hallway. 

She marched over, and sent Julian scrambling into the bathroom where Rosa was giggling profusely from the countertop. “You watch your mouth—what’d I say about telling Julian to shut up.”

Lance sighed, “Not to do it…”

“Exactly. And off the counter, Rosa! Off, off! All of you—come help in the kitchen before tus abuelos get here,” she ordered, and practically swung Lance by the arm down the hall where she gave him a gentle side hug despite the previous warnings. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said, and kissed him on the forehead. 

Lance was smiling before Julian bumped into his shoulder and said, “You’re still getting kisses fr— _ ey! _ ” Ma shut him up with a rough kiss to his cheek that had him fake-gagging to the side. 

Lance burst into laughter and tackled Julian into a headlock. “What was that you were gonna say,  _ baby brother! _ ”

“ _ LANCE! _ Stop it! Ugh—!” he cried, wrestling out of Lance’s hold. He forcefully fixed the wrinkles on his sweater and the collar of his undershirt while Rosa discretely avoided everything to do with their “brotherly love.”

Near the end of cooking, Lance had to take a break because he sneezed into his elbow and had Rosa in a tizzy. “ _ Ew! _ Sick germs! Sick germs!” she screamed while Lance defended himself by saying, “I only sneezed  _ once _ ! Oh my God!” which only got him reprimanded by Ma, who said, “Lord’s name in vain!”

So, he was booted to the counter where he sulked and watched Julian stack a pyramid of delicious treats. Julian looked a lot like their father—skinny, but soft around the edges unlike most of the guys in his class. Julian never got into sports because it was one thing that didn’t come naturally to him. Their father was always disappointed about the fact that Julian only pursued things that he excelled at naturally and didn’t have to work for. 

And it wasn’t that Julian was a slacker at all. Lance didn’t lie about the fact that Julian got a full ride to Northwestern, but it was impossible to do that without all of the work Julian put in for scholarships and elaborate dinners with possible sponsors and donors. His closet was full of suits and those (awful) sweaters he wore over collared shirts. When Julian wore his glasses, he looked like an elderly man.

“What are you staring at,” Julian muttered from over the pyramid.

“You. I don’t see you at all anymore,” he said, resting his chin on his hand.

“I don’t think that’s a  _ bad _ thing” Julian scoffed, and turned away as Lance gawked at him. 

“Ma! Julian’s being mean to me,” Lance whined.

“Over exaggerating,” she said from where she was checking the oven. 

In the midst of Lance’s family betrayal, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, but not without glaring at Julian first for causing this mess. Julian shrugged innocently and walked away. Lance glowered down at his phone before realizing who the notification was from.  _ Keith _ .

Rosa dodged Julian to hurry around the countertop and peer over Lance’s shoulder. “Is this who I think it is?” she asked in a whisper, and taunted with a musical, “ _ Shiiirooo _ …!”

Lance elbowed her in the gut with a laugh and said, “ _ No _ .”

“What, did you give up on him?” she asked, voice low so Ma and Julian wouldn’t hear. 

Lance bit his lip and gave her a sly smile before tipping his phone upside down and shaking his head. “No, I’m still seeing him. This is just… another guy I work with…”

Rosa’s jaw dropped, and in an instant she was dragging him out of the kitchen and apologizing to Ma that they would be  _ right back _ to help set the table. They wound up in the bathroom again where Lance slapped his hands over his face and moaned, “This is such a disaster—! They’re both so perfect…!”

“Well, who is he?” she snapped, grabbing for Lance’s phone. He lifted it high over his head so she couldn’t get to it. “Well, does Shiro know about him?”

“Yeah, but… I don’t know. He keeps telling me to go for it and date the guy but I just—I  _ really _ like Shiro too. He’s so nice and sweet and he makes coffee for me in the morning…” he sighed, and swooned dreamily against the countertop as Rosa hopped up to try and get the phone again. He tucked it above the medicine cabinet so she couldn’t reach it. “But I can’t like two guys at once, right? That’s just not realistic.”

“I mean, I don’t know. I’ve had crushes on more than one guy before,” she said. “Same thing, right?”

“Not… really…” he said, pinching a finger to his chapped lip. He picked at the dead skin as he said, “I mean… Shiro’s, like,  _ totally _ long-term dating material, and then Keith is like…  _ ugh _ , he’s so flawless and I just want to  _ viciously cuddle him _ .” He made aggressive grabby-motions with his hands before slapping them over his face again. 

“Keith?” she repeated. “Sounds familiar.”

“He’s that…  _ guy _ who’s, like, the star of all of Lotor’s best routines and he hated me for a while but we’ve been  _ texting _ and I just… I can’t function when I’m around him—! Do you think that’s weird? That I’m basically seeing two guys at the same time?” he asked, and before she could respond, he kept talking, “But I mean… Shiro’s not looking for a relationship as far as I can tell so it’s not like I’m  _ cheating _ on Shiro. And he’s totally all for me dating Keith, but I don’t know if I want to go ahead and date Keith and sacrifice what I might have had with  _ Shiro _ …”

He ended with a sigh, looking desperately at Rosa for answers he knew she wasn’t capable of providing. She was just in high school—he didn’t expect her to have any new insight on this, but… it was worth a shot.

She raised her eyebrows at him and said, “What, you want me to pick for you?”

He laughed and shook his head, lowering his eyes down to his hands. “No… No, I wish I didn’t have to choose. You know? What kind of asshole would I be if I dated both of them?”

“A huge asshole.”

“ _ Exactly! _ And who has time to date two guys at the same time anyway,” he said. “And I’ve been working practically full time! And, I mean, work’ll calm down once the practices are over with.”

“What do you mean? Aren’t you supposed to be practicing  _ all the time? _ ”

“Yeah, but this is different,” he sighed, crossing his arms as he looked at Rosa, and figured there wasn’t any harm in letting her know. He explained the night of the Possible Disaster Incident, where the stereo system cut out. It spiraled into the practices with the band, the practices with Keith, and now, his opening night tomorrow. 

“Do you dance with Keith in the show at all? Like, are you singing and he’s, like, all up on you and stuff looking  _ hella— _ ” Rosa blurted out, only to be shushed by Lance to keep her voice down. 

He slapped his hand over her mouth, turning red at the fact that he was practically planting these images into her head without even thinking. “ _ Shush! _ I don’t—I mean,  _ yeah _ , kinda? It’s not  _ like that though _ .”

“Then what’s it like? Does he wear a shirt?”

“Um—well,  _ no _ , not  _ really— _ ”

“Does he wear pants?”

“ _ Yes! _ I mean, well,  _ no _ , not  _ really— _ ”

“So he’s naked.”

“ _ No! _ Rosa!”

“Can I come to your opening ni—”

“ _ NO! _ ”

. . .

 

That night, Lance was saved by dinner and board games with the family. Rosa kept giving him knowing looks that said, “I’m coming whether you like it or not,” and whenever Lance insisted that she had no clue where he worked, she’d say, “Google Maps is a thing, you know.” Whatever the case, he knew it was impossible for her to get into the club in the first place. It didn’t stop him from  _ worrying about it _ . He wondered if he could survive the next few years until Rosa turned eighteen and could go to the club. Would he still be working at Downtown Daibazaal?  _ God _ he hoped so. He loved it there, and couldn’t imagine leaving, especially now that he was going to be the lead singer.

That night, after Lance kissed his grandma and grandpa goodbye, Rosa followed Lance to his old room, saying, “I could just drive you home and stay the night!”

“Yeah, no, you are  _ not _ going to do that,” he said. 

“Can I at least meet them?”

“ _ No _ .”

“Then… can I at least have a sleepover?” she whined, flopping onto his old bed as he bent down over his duffle and searched around for his sweatpants and sweatshirt. “ _ Pleeease _ , Lance? You said I could sleep over at your place one of these nights… But that was, like, a  _ month _ ago.”

“That was before I started working all the time,” he said. When he looked up, Rosa was pouting at him. She dropped her eyes to the comforter his Ma bought after he moved out. It was just another guest bedroom now that all of Lance’s things were no longer there. Even if it didn’t  _ look _ like his room anymore, he wondered how many times Rosa walked past it expecting to find him in there on his computer doing whatever. 

“Ask Ma if you can stay the night tomorrow,” he said. “If she says yes, then you can.”

Rosa all but lunged off the countertop to ask, and Lance wandered out after her to hear the buttend of their Ma saying, “No, you have rehearsal tomorrow, and no, you can’t skip it.” Lance gave Rosa an indifferent shrug because he knew that tomorrow would be filled with Lance’s own personal rehearsal before the big night. Maybe that was why she was so adamant on coming over—so that she could be his audience.

Lance went to sleep that night going over the lyrics to the songs in his head. He dreamt about practice with Keith, and practice with the group over the choreography Lotor, Coran, and Shiro put together. He dreamt about yet another awful, dreadful, anxiety-inducing stage hiccup in which he couldn’t sing and his voice kept pitching and breaking, and everything went horribly,  _ horribly _ wrong the second someone fell and broke their leg in the middle of the performance…

Even away from the 5AM blending, he woke up at 6AM from one of these dreams and bolted from the bed when he realized that his dry mouth was suddenly salivating like crazy.

“Shit, shit, shit—” he hissed, shoving open the bathroom door and dropping over the toilet to vomit up dinner from the night before. 

When the vomiting didn’t stop until his Ma came in to check on him an hour later, he was forced into bed with a heated blanket and a thermometer in his mouth. The look on his Ma’s face when she checked the temperature had him thinking:

_ I guess this is where my luck runs out _ .

 

. . .

 

“Sorry to bring you all in so early, but bad news: Lance is sick,” Lotor said that morning he called in all of the dancers to the stage bright and early. Shiro stood off to the side with Coran, and his wonderings about where Lance was came to fruition. So this was what this whole powwow was about. “Which  _ means _ … we’re reverting back to a previous arrangements and pushing the new show to next Friday.”

“Are you sure he’s sick?” Zethrid asked. “That kid’s a fucking bulldozer—he wouldn’t let the sniffles stop tonight.”

“I can hunt him down for you, make sure it’s not stage jitters,” Acxa said, and the way she said it made it sound more like a threat than an offering.

“Trust me—it’s not stage jitters,” Lotor said, and shuddered a little with a grimace. “When he called he had to stop halfway through to...  _ vomit _ . His sister’s with him today making sure he gets better soon for next week.”

“I used to fake sick all the time,” Ezor said, narrowing her eyes at Lotor. “Prove it.”

Lotor gave her an exasperated expression before moving on. “ _ Anyways _ , Lance isn’t  _ here _ , which means we need to recycle a previous show.”

He walked off to fetch a sheet of paper from the bar, and the moment he turned his back, everyone was whispering. They didn’t know Lance too well, but from what they saw, Lance wasn’t the sort of guy to get stage jitters. They just had to trust that whatever was wrong was  _ serious _ to keep Lance from Downtown Daibazaal. 

In the background, stuck in the middle of a conversation Ulaz and Thace were having, Keith crossed his arms and thought back to last night. Lance hadn’t mentioned anything about feeling bad. They texted all that night before sleeping, and from their texting history, Lance was  _ thrilled _ for tonight. He hardly seemed nervous, either, so Keith had to agree with everyone else—this  _ wasn’t _ stage jitters.

_ Maybe I should go check on him _ , he thought, his mind going to his phone where it was stuck upstairs at his makeup table. 

Lotor came back and started calling out names for the first routine, and soon they were all scattering and getting into their places. Keith didn’t have time to so much as leave the stage without Coran pulling him back to the stairs, saying, “You’re up next—I don’t care if you already know the routine, just play along, all right?” 

Meanwhile, Shiro had a little more leeway, and discretely texted Lance off to the side: “ _ Hey, are you feeling alright? Do you want me to pick up some medicine for you? _ ”

More than an hour later, Lance replied back: “ _ Not too great, but Rosa’s taking care of me. _ ”

“ _ My offer still stands with the medicine _ .  _ I could grab whatever you like and swing by _ .”

“ _ That would actually be great, and Rosa’s been wanting to meet you anyways _ ;)” Lance said back, and it had Shiro rolling his eyes. He wasn’t exactly prepared for “meeting the family,” but he wasn’t nervous about it either. Meeting the infamous little sister of the McClain family wouldn’t be the worst possible thing to happen. 

After the first run through of the new-but-old sequences, Shiro faded from the scene after a talk with Lotor. He drove off to fetch the supplies Lance asked for around the same time Keith broke away long enough to text Lance, who had fallen asleep and gave control of his phone to Rosa in case Shiro had any questions about what medicine to buy. 

Keith texted Lance, saying, “ _ I heard you’re sick. Is everything okay? _ ” and Rosa heard the buzz from across the apartment where Lance set it on his nightstand. 

She hurried to fetch it, and hesitated at Keith’s name on the screen. She was internally fretting over meeting Shiro—she could never control herself around hot guys, and she was certain that Shiro would be no exception despite the fact that he was very clearly gay and not interested in sophomore girls—but Keith just seemed so  _ daring _ and  _ hot _ and clearly he was a catch all by himself. 

_ I wonder if Keith would want to stop by… _ she thought, tapping her finger on her chin as she paced away from Lance’s bedside.

“Did someone call…?” Lance asked, voice raspy from coughing up a storm earlier. 

She turned back to him, holding his phone to her chest. “Just… Shiro! Yeah, he’s on his way.”  _ Lance will lose his mind, but… maybe it’d be good to get his two crushes in the same room. They might get along _ , she thought as Lance rolled over and pulled the covers up to his stuffy nose and watery eyes. 

  
  


**Lance:** _ Hey! This is Rosa, Lance’s sister. Lance is taking a nap but I’ll let him know you texted _ .

**Keith:** _ Oh sorry. So he really is sick then? _

**Lance:** _ Uh, duh, did you think he was lying? I’ve never seen him so ill usually he’s the picture of health ya know. Never missed a day of school, that one _ .

**Keith:** _ Ha, yeah, he seems like the type. Just making sure I guess _ .

**Lance:** _ No worries :) _

_ I was actually wondering… Lance is completely out of Kleenex and I don’t know the area too well. _

**Keith:** _ Do you want me to bring some over? _

**Lance:** _ That would be lovely :D _

**Keith:** _ What’s his address? _

  
  


“I just grabbed three different flavors since we couldn’t decide,” Shiro said as he sat down a bag full of Walmart supplies. He unwrapped his scarf from around his neck before turning around and seeing that Lance’s little sister had her hands clasped under her chin, and a Christmas-morning smile on her face. They had the same exact smile, Shiro couldn’t deny it.

“Lance was right—you  _ are _ handsome!” she said, and Shiro laughed, flattered but not at all surprised. Lance said it enough that he figured word spread to other sources. Still, it didn’t stop his ears from turning pink. “Oh! and thanks for grabbing those. How much was it?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I just hope he feels better soon. Everyone at… work is really bummed he couldn’t make it tonight,” he said, censoring the fact that “work” happened to be a club.

Rosa put her hands on her hips then and marched over to snag the bag over. She rifled around in it for the receipt, but Shiro pulled it out of his wallet to show her that he had it all covered. 

“Like I said—don’t worry about it,” he said, crinkling it up in one hand and tossing it into Lance’s trash. 

“Fine then,” she huffed as she broke into one of the cough drop baggies. “So what are they doing now that Lance can’t perform tonight?”

Shiro raised an eyebrow at her, which earned him a flat look. “I know where he works, and I know that you’re the hot bartender who helped him home one night. Thanks for that, by the way,” Rosa said, and Shiro once again rolled his eyes at the comment on his appearance.

“It was nothing. I’m glad I met him—not sure what would have happened if I hadn’t. But I’m sure Lance can handle himself just fine,” he said, and helped pull out cans of soup for Rosa to put away. “He… told you about that night?”

“A little,” she said, and wriggled her eyebrows at him, “but he spared the details.”

Shiro flushed all sorts of reds and stammered, “We—I mean, we didn’t… Nothing  _ happened _ .”

She grinned knowingly before turning away to open one of the cabinets above her head. Shiro slapped a hand over his face, and looked over at Lance’s bedroom accusingly. Really, he shouldn’t have been so surprised by Rosa’s dirty mind considering who he slept with on a now-regular basis. 

They finished putting things away just as a knock sounded on the door. Shiro looked at it with an eyebrow raised, and then glanced back at Rosa, who looked too smug to trust. 

“Seems like we have a little guest,” she sang, sashaying out of the room exactly how Shiro had watched Lance do a dozen times before. 

She pranced up the steps theatrically as Shiro went to the sink and filled a measuring cup full of water for the coffee machine. He started prepping it and double-checked the time to make sure his shift wasn’t starting for another hour and—

“Oh my gosh, this is perfect!” Rosa shrieked from the door. “He’ll be set for an entire  _ year _ !”

“I went a little overboard…” 

Shiro accidentally dropped the lid of the coffee maker. The sound drew attention to him, and the fact that he was now staring at Keith from across  _ Lance’s apartment _ . He was partially obscured by the case of tissue boxes Rosa was now holding as a barrier between them, but it was impossible for Shiro to  _ not _ see the look on Keith’s face. 

They hadn’t been stuck in the same room in nearly a year.

“I—” Shiro started, but the way his heart was pounding, all of his words were sucked into a vortex that spiraled into the pit of his stomach.

“Hey Shiro,” Keith said, clearing his throat as he passed a bag to Rosa without looking. She balanced the items as he said, “Well, I should get going.”

Shiro was halfway across the apartment while Keith was already turning around to leave with Rosa stuck on the stairs carrying the supplies Keith brought in. That was how Lance found them when he rolled out of bed to check on the new visitors, and that was exactly how they encountered the man standing out at Lance’s gate.

Keith’s steps hesitated, and the shock from seeing Shiro was already starting to burn his eyes when he looked up at the stranger standing over him. The guy was a complete giant—broad shoulders and barrel chest, over six-feet tall and sporting a neatly trimmed beard. Despite his appearance, his smile was friendly and approachable. 

“Hey!” he said, peering past Keith to the wall of Kleenex, and Shiro and Lance beyond it. “I never got around to saying hi before! I live above you guys—the name’s Blaytz.”

“Oh—I don’t—We don’t—” Keith started, stuttering over his words as Blaytz marched down and shook his hand, still blocking the way out.

“This is my brother’s apartment!” Rosa said, peering up over the Kleenex. Her eyes went wide at the sight of Blaytz standing nearly a full foot taller than Keith. “We’re just visitors, but… you could come inside if you like!”

“Ever heard of  _ stranger danger _ ?” Keith asked, and jumped at the sound of Blaytz’s booming laughter.

“Only if it’s okay with the host,” Blaytz said, and his smile was too inviting to ignore. 

Lance had a blanket cape tossed around his shoulders as he stepped around Rosa to greet Blaytz. He cleared his throat before saying, “Um, yeah, you can come in. I’m your neighbor, Lance. And I’d shake your hand but I’m kinda…”

Blaytz gestured to his nose and said, “Sick? Yeah, that’s fine. I was actually just getting back from grocery shopping. This time of year I’m always buying things to boost my immune system, so I could make a little something to help you out.”

“Really? You don’t have to do that,” Lance said, but his stuffy nose sounded too pathetic for Blaytz to turn him down. 

“I will  _ completely _ do this for my new neighbor. I don’t bake cookies anyways, so don’t expect a batch from me for being new here,” he said, and followed Lance and Rosa down the steps while Keith lingered at the door, wondering just how to walk out without making a fuss.

He avoided Shiro’s gaze at all cost, but Lance and Rosa were both preoccupied with Blaytz, and Shiro was the only one left at the stairs. 

Eventually, his attention was drawn down to where Shiro cleared his throat and said, “I was just about to make some coffee.” He looked just as scared and shocked as Keith felt inside. “Would you want a cup before work?”

The late November chill must have blown straight through Keith, because he let out a shiver and stepped towards the warmth without a word. He nodded and shut the door behind him. 


	11. { don't you ever leave me alone }

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ THIS CHAPTER SUMMARY AND THE BEGINNING NOTES
> 
> There is normally something ridiculous here, but for this chapter, I feel the need to add some content warnings. Don't worry, tags will be updated if these aren't there, but here's the situation.
> 
> Keith has a bad past. We've hinted at it before, but someone from before he started working at Downtown Daibazaal. Before changing his career to being a burlesque dancer, Keith was a stripper for a club called the Empire. And it is there that he ran into trouble. A customer gets to handsy, slips something into his drink, and basically it goes dark from there. I did not write it in explicit detail, but I will add in markings to the section so you can skip over it if it is something that bothers you. I'll explain more in the notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I really didn't mean for this to be a really heavy chapter, but it does deal with dark themes. Keith has a massive panic attack because someone from his past is back, his rapist. I am not going to sugarcoat this. This is a sensitive thing to cover in a fic, and I feel awful for writing Keith in this position, but I do greatly feel that this is an essential part of his character development.
> 
> The content warning symbols will be ### before and after the section.
> 
> I'm only doing this to keep everyone safe. I pray that I was able to present the situation in a realistic way and kept true to a survivor's point of view.
> 
> Since that is all said and done, enjoy the chapter. I promise that it's great, I made myself tear up for Keith some. I just felt the need to give all of you a heads up. Thanks

Lance blew his nose five times before he was even able to speak properly, and glare at Rosa properly. She donned an innocent little smirk from where she wiggled her eyebrows at Keith, who’s attention was elsewhere and stuck on the mug between his hands.

Shiro was busy talking to Blaytz, who was at the stove cooking diced garlic and leaves of spinach, so Lance was stuck at the countertop with the awful realization that Keith wanted to be anywhere but here. Rosa didn’t seem to mind the fact that the air was thick with awkwardness. It was like Lance just stepped into a party where he had slept with half the people there, and was on awful terms with most of them. The difference here was that he only slept with one, and _desperately_ hoped to sleep with the other.

“So… Keith,” Rosa started, and Lance tried to speak up to shut her up, but his voice failed him, “I hear you work with Lance. You’re a dancer?”

Keith raised an eyebrow at her before turning to look at Lance. “You told her where you work?” he asked.

Lance cleared his throat and said, “Yeah—she’s cool. For the _most part_.” He scowled at her, and she waved him off with an unconvinced roll of her eyes.

“How old are you?” he asked Rosa skeptically.

“I’m a sophomore—in high school. A lot of people think I’m in college but… I’m just in high school,” she said.

Keith looked at Lance again, this time with an accusatory edge in his eyes. Lance huddled further under his blanket, and smiled weakly as Rosa started chatting again about how Keith was and what he was doing and would he want to come over again and watch a movie or two?

Keith tried as best he could to stay civil, but he couldn’t stop himself from sounding harsh, especially when his gaze was constantly flitting between them all—from Rosa to Lance, from Lance to Shiro, and back again. _What’s he doing here anyways?_ Keith asked himself, turning away from Shiro’s soft smile and good intentions.

“So, um…” he started, looking back towards Lance. His chest seized up at the gentle look on Lance’s face, and that stunning smile that he and his sister shared. “Are you… and Shiro…?” He gestured vaguely between them.

“Oh! No, no, we aren’t—We aren’t dating. Just friends,” Lance said quickly. “It gets kind of lonely around here when Rosa isn’t pestering me to come over.”

“You never let me come over for more than an hour or two,” she whined, sticking her bottom lip out at Lance.

“Lonely,” Keith repeated, and he realized belatedly that it sounded like he was looking for the fucking definition. He internally slapped his forehead.

“I mean, _yeah_. Before I got my own place, I was always with Rosa and Julian or Ma,” Lance explained. “I underestimated how quiet it gets living on my own. So if you ever want to, like, hang out or anything… My place is always open to you I guess.”

“I don’t—” Keith started, but was interrupted by three bowls being pushed out onto the counter.

Shiro divvied them up and sent a blossom of color to Keith’s cheeks. _Stop looking at him, stop looking at him, stop looking at him_ , Keith chanted in his head, but he was already looking up at Shiro’s encouraging smile.

“Lance makes a _really_ good cup of tea,” he said to Keith, and Keith’s brain exploded with absolutely everything that _that_ could mean. Knowing Shiro, he was trying to support Keith—but _this?_

_He’s trying to get me to hang out with Lance_ , he realized, and topped it with the fact that he still had yet to reply.

“That sounds nice—I’ll… have to try it some time,” Keith whispered, dragging his eyes away from Shiro to Lance. Lance looked radiant when he smiled, even ill and stuffy, and flushed from his fever.

One thing Keith couldn’t get over was the fact that Lance accepted this arrangement so easily. _He’s_ got _to know that Shiro’s trying to get me to move on from him_ , he thought, and continued to wonder just how much Shiro told Lance about their relationship before. It was easier to just assume that Lance knew everything, because the last thing Keith wanted to do was _talk about it_.

The frying pan on the stove started popping and sizzling with flavor, and it filled the apartment with a thick, garlic aroma. The scent was so heavy that even Lance got a hint of it.

“Isn’t that a bit much?” Shiro asked Blaytz as he chopped up another clove.

“It’ll help clear up Lance’s sinuses,” he said. “How’s the pasta cooking?”

Shiro took the spoon and circled it in the pot. He taste-tested one of the noodles before confirming that they were al dante. They mixed cheese into another pot where the noodles were deposited, and the garlic sauce was laid over the top. Keith checked his phone for the time.

“I should probably leave soon if I’m gonna make it in time to avoid a lecture from Coran,” Keith said, thinking about the walk from the club to the store, and then to Lance’s apartment.

“Oh, yeah. I forgot that you have to perform tonight,” Lance sighed, slumping over the countertop.

“Can I come?” Rosa asked.

“No,” Lance said in harmony with both Keith and Shiro. Lance snorted a laugh and regretted it instantly, lunging for the fresh box of Kleenex before he could make a mess. Keith slapped his hand on the counter and laughed while Rosa whined about how stuffy they were, keeping a high schooler out of the club.

Lance blew his nose and tossed the tissue out. “I mean… Shiro works too so maybe you guys could carpool…?” he suggested, sniffing as he watched Keith’s eyes go wide, and then glanced over to where Shiro dropped a noodle on the floor.

As Shiro bent down to retrieve it, Keith shook his head and said, “Oh, no, I can just—It’s not that far of a walk…”

“I mean, I don’t think… it’d be an issue…?” Shiro said, grimacing as he stood up and popped the noodle into his mouth.

Keith stared at him, and Shiro shrugged. “I—Um, okay? If it’s… fine with you…”

“Of course. I don’t mind,” Shiro said. “And this way you can eat a little something before… you know…”

“I’ll be skipping dinner anyways so this…”

“It works.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. You can drive me,” Keith said, and they both nodded and looked to Lance, who squinted at them both before breaking out into another stunning smile.

Shiro sighed in relief, and turned to Blaytz, who let out an amused laugh and slid a bowl of pasta over to Rosa. “Well—glad that’s worked out! Now where is it that you all work?” Blaytz asked.

Keith bit his lip and shared a look with Shiro, who said, “Do you wanna tell him or should I?”

 

. . .

 

They left five minutes before Keith’s shift was due to start. When they were leaving, Keith was convinced that Lance would have hugged them had he not been morbidly ill. They waved goodbye, though, and Blaytz followed them out and wandered around the gate to the stairs over Lance’s stoop.

“It was nice meeting you two. Good luck at work!” Blaytz said.

“Have fun cooking,” Shiro said with a laugh as Blaytz waved his shopping bag up high. “We’ll see you around.”

They started towards Shiro’s car that Keith recognized all too well. They waited until Blaytz buzzed into the building and disappeared behind the closed door. At that point, Keith was dropping into the passenger’s seat and Shiro collapsed in the driver’s seat and—

“I shouldn’t have come here,” Keith started.

“I didn’t know you would be here—”

“Yeah, well, same here,” Keith huffed, putting a hand to his forehead.

“I think Rosa planned it—”

“Does _she_ know we used to date?”

“No, and neither does Lance,” Shiro said, looking over his shoulder and pulling out of the parking spot as Keith’s jaw dropped. He stared at Shiro’s profile, even as Shiro sighed and said, “Don’t look at me like that…”

“You haven’t told him?”

“ _No_ , and he really likes you so don’t ruin it just because—”

“Because of _what?_ You’re just trying to—to get me to _move on_ , is that it? That’s _exactly_ what you’re trying to do!” Keith shouted, and groaned when he was interrupted by Shiro saying, “Put your seatbelt on!” He fell back against the seat cushions and viciously yanked the seatbelt over his shoulder. He buckled in and crossed his arms, looking anywhere that wasn’t where Shiro was.

“Is that such a bad thing, though?” Shiro asked.

“Uh, _yeah_ , especially when we both know that neither of us have completely moved on,” he spat. “You’re such a hypocrite.”

“I’m not—I am _not_ dating Lance.”

“Yeah, but you wish you were.”

“ _Keith_ …”

Keith stayed quiet as they pulled into the parking lot. They jostled over the speed bump before Shiro pulled up into his usual spot. He parked the car and moved to shut off the car. Keith didn’t make a move to leave, and so he settled back into the seat for the lecture.

Keith scowled at his reflection in the window and said, “I thought I understood you.”

“I haven’t _changed_ at all—”

“No, you didn’t. I just never knew you were such an _asshole_ ,” he hissed, turning to glare at Shiro, but his remark had Shiro looking broken all over again. The last time Keith saw Shiro cry was over their shakey breakup, and Keith could never control himself whenever he saw Shiro cry. “Oh, stop playing the kicked puppy,” he snapped.

Shiro put his hand over his eyes and sighed, “I know, I’m sorry. I just—I never forgot how much I loved talking to you and… it was really nice seeing you at Lance’s but—”

“ _You_ did this!” Keith shouted, fully aware that his eyes were burning as much as his throat was from yelling. “ _You’re_ the reason we aren’t together anymore—the reason you went and… _ran off_ with Lance!”

“If we’re so dependent on one another, what makes you think we were ever meant to stay together?” Shiro demanded, eyes on the steering wheel. “I think about you so often that I can’t imagine that _any_ of this was healthy to begin with. You’re—I’m sorry, Keith, but I can’t help but think that I was holding you back. I’m not exactly a _first choice_.”

He put his wrists on the wheel, and Keith knew exactly what he was implying from it. “ _Don’t_ use that on me,” Keith said, voice cold. “You know I don’t think of that when I look at you.”

“I know, but I’m still _lacking_ because of it. And everything that came about _because_ of it,” he said, pushing his forearm over his eyes. “I always thought you deserved someone who was more stable than me. Someone like—”

“Like Lance, you mean,” Keith finished. “Does he know about… everything?”

“With me?” Shiro asked quietly, and shook his head. “No, he just… knows what happened with my hand. I haven’t had any episodes when I’m around him. He’s been really helpful with… taking my mind off things. I think you’d really get along with him, is all.”

Keith jaw tensed. “ _Helpful_ ,” he repeated, “with… _taking your mind off things_? Funny, Shiro, _real_ funny—” He shoved open the passenger door before Shiro could reply. He swung out of the car, voice rising, “I get that you’re always trying to protect me, but you don’t have to _screw_ my future _boyfriends_ to make sure they aren’t going to _murder me_!”

“Keith—!”

“I’m glad he’s helping take your _mind off things_. Glad to know you just _love_ screwing him!”

Keith slammed the door shut and all but sprinted to the back door to avoid the fact that Shiro was getting out of the car to chase after him. Shiro took two steps from his door and found that Keith had already disappeared into the backroom.

Shiro paced away with his hand in his hair, hissing, “Fuck. _Fuck!_ ” He kicked his door shut and locked the car behind him. As he stormed towards the front door, mind racing with thoughts of Keith and Lance, all that kept repeating word-for-word was the simple question of, “What the _hell_ just happened?”

The same question consumed Keith as he shut himself behind the backdoor of the club, hands rushing to his hair. He urged himself to _calm the fuck down_ before this all got out of hand. Unfortunately, though, it was already _way_ past under control. He used to wonder constantly what would happen if he and Shiro spoke again, and now he knew, and now he felt a wave of unreasonable guilt crush his insides and wash the gore away. He shouldn’t be thinking about this, especially when the backup plan for Lance’s debut depended on his cooperation with Allura to make the best damn performance worth it.

His duffle dropped halfway through his combustion, so he picked it up and swung it over his shoulder. He started towards the stairs and hurried to his makeup table. On the way, he passed Lance’s empty mirror and caught Ezor’s eye along the way.

“I hope he’s doing okay… Poor guy,” she huffed, glancing at Lance’s chair. Keith pursed his lips and shrugged. “Oh, come on, I know you don’t hate the guy. At least not anymore.”

“And where’d you get that shitty idea?” he said, and was surprised that his amusement pulled his lips into a smile. And here he thought he’d be a brooding mess all tonight. Talking about Lance improved his thoughts a bit more than he expected.

Ezor grinned at him, twisting the cap off of her mascara. “Oh, I don’t know. That smile says a lot, though. If you aren’t careful someone might think you actually like him…”

Keith scoffed and turned away. When he got to his mirror, he was smiling all over again. Brooding about Shiro would have to wait until after work.

 

. . .

 

The night went just like any other before Lance was hired and changed everything. It was amazing how easy he had slipped into all of their lives and his place on stage, and now it was like they were missing a significant part of the team. Keith sighed and downed his drink as he wiped off the rest of his make-up. Peeling off the fake eyelashes, doing his best to get rid of all the eyeliner and mascara—damn stuff was the worst to get off, no matter how good his facial cleansers were.

Giving up with the last remnants of work on his face (hey, he didn’t look like a trash panda, so that was a plus), Keith shoved everything into his duffle bag and made to leave.

Everyone had picked up on his bad mood throughout the night, Matt had even commented on how he was glaring daggers at the bar all night, but Keith just growled and brushed him off. In retrospect, Keith wish he hadn’t because Matt had given him this sad look and made minimal conversation with him for the rest of the night. Ezor didn’t even comment about it, and she was the one who _always_ poked him to get him riled up.

But nope—the night was quiet backstage.

To Keith it made Lance’s absence even more palpable.

He slung is bag over his shoulder and tromped down the stairs, absently waving to everyone as he left out the back. The wind bit through his coat, causing him to shiver and turtled his way into the collar as much as he could. Stupid winters in Chicago. Why here, Keith? Why didn’t you go live somewhere warm?

He trudged through the gray slush, sticking as close as he could to the buildings, so he wouldn’t be splashed as cars drove by. Normally he would have hitched a ride with Matt, but he really needed his space now. The ride to work with Shiro…

Keith shook his head and glared ahead of him. Maybe his anger would keep him warm.

That being said, it took far longer than planned to get to his apartment. Walking in heels was amazing—granted that the weather was cooperative. But remember that slush? It made it hell to try and keep his feet underneath of him. Everyone slipped in heels in the winter, there was no shame in that.

Well. Most people didn’t have to walk nearly a mile to get back to their place.

Smart people would call a cab or find a bus.

Geniuses wouldn’t snap at their friends, suck it up, and take the offered ride home so they wouldn’t _have_ to walk.

Keith was none of those.

He pulled out his phone and stared down at the dim screen, noting the low battery flashing in the corner. Good thing he was almost home. At nearly 3:30AM. _Fuck_ , he was exhausted. Just one more block and he would be able to relax without reservation. Five more minutes of walking.

A car sped past, engine roaring as the driver slammed on the gas and peeled out of a parking lot farther down the street. The lights made erratic tracks over the road as the rear wheels spun helplessly. The cars back end fishtailed for a perilous few seconds and then the tires found traction and the car tore off down the road. Keith ducked and turned toward the building as the wind and tidal waves of slush threatened to freeze him in place.

“Fucker,” he muttered under his breath as he started his trek once more. God, he hated city drivers—they were all collectively stupid.

Wearily, he arrived at the building, digging out his key and slumped up the stairs to his apartment. He kept his gaze on his feet, avoiding looking at anyone that was lingering in the hallways. He hated this place, it was a dump, but it was cheap. So he really shouldn’t be complaining, yet… he couldn’t stop from wanting to find a new place. He had the money for it, so why did he stay?

He sighed, bringing his key to the doorknob and froze.

It was open. Just barely, but it was—Keith sucked in a deep breath, clutching his hands over the strap of his duffle bag. The door jam was splintered around the deadbolt.

_Why?_

Keith looked both ways down the hall. The yellowish lights illuminated the emptiness, the vacancy, and ensured him that he was entirely alone out in the hallway. Cautiously—even though every fiber of his being was telling him to run—Keith slowly pushed open his door and looked inside.

Everything was trashed.

_Everything._

Nothing was where it had been before—his kitchen had every article of food he owned pulled out and tossed to the ground, the fridge door left open. Even the trashcan was up ended. His heart beat so fast it turned his fingertips numb, shaking over his duffle strap. He panned over the living room, his feet wobbly as he stepped into the wavering light of the broken television screen. Aside from the light out in the hallway, the living room walls were strobing with TV static.

He walked over one of the cushions that had been torn to pieces. They’d been slashed and tossed to all ends of the room, their stuffing strewn like gore over the coffee table. The whole frame itself was flipped, exposing the dingy carpet underneath. His TV stand was cleared of everything, the DVDs he had watched with Shiro a year ago were thrown everywhere—some were even embedded in the walls, others smashed on the ground. The TV itself had cracks spanning the screen as it flickered and sparked weakly.

Keith’s chest burned until he laid his hand over it, and realized that his heart was racing, trying desperately to escape through his throat.

No, no, no, no _nono_ —

His legs trembled as he _stood_ in the middle of the chaos. What—why? Why him?

Lamps and nightstands were knocked over, papers were strewn everywhere, books tossed on the ground, pages ripped out and scattered about. Keith swallowed, his throat paper dry. He forced himself to walk further through his apartment. He looked over each item. Pictures were thrown on the ground, glass broken and shattered all over.

The farther he went down the hallway, the more his mind was telling him to _run_. His bedroom door was off its hinges, haphazardly placed over the entrance. The sour churning in his gut that Keith had been fighting this whole time was growing. He needed to leave—he wanted to so _badly_ , but he kept going.

With a gentle push, he moved the door. It creaked and fell over and now, Keith truly was going to be sick.

The television static sent his shadow wavering through the room until he stopped just within the threshold. The streetlamps outdoors dropped an orange glow over his untouched bed, and the slip of paper resting on the comforter. Even from here he could tell that the handwriting wasn’t his own.

Keith moved closer, heart straining as he took in the dark ink of a photograph lying underneath the note.

_No, no, no nono—_

His feet moved on their own, forcing him to walk up to his bed and stare down at the two items atop it. _Oh god, oh god, oh—_

**_###_ **

_“Hello,_

_I realize that it has been sometime since we have seen each other, yes? I was sorely disappointed when I found out that you were no longer at The Empire anymore, I always thought that you were so entrancing on that stage, and on my lap…Why did you leave? We had something so good. It made me quite angry when I learned this, and then to know that you had a boyfriend? Oh, you certainly caused me a lot of trouble trying to find you too. The picture was all I had left of you…”_

Keith nearly retched. Fuck, no, how did _he_ find him? He could barely look at the photo—he already knew what it was.

_“You were quite beautiful that night, those bruises…they painted your skin so delectably, I’m growing hard just thinking about it…_

_Why did you leave The Empire? Z made so much money off of you, you know? You were the star, the prize everyone wanted…why would you leave that? Why would you leave me? I loved you, and **you** **LEFT**!!!”_

It was like he was shouting right in Keith’s ears. He flinched away from the bed, movements sharp and erratic like _the weak prey he was_. It felt as though that man was with him now in the room, reading every word to him in hot, breathy whispers.

He had to get out of here, he had—he had to leave, _fuck, he had to leave_.

Keith turned and ran.

Behind him the note and photograph floated to the ground, falling from the edge of the bed in his haste. The scrawling letters on the note were signed with a R.S. denoting Richard Sendak’s return to Chicago for the first time in almost a _year_. A few inches away, the photo slid to the ground.

It was a dark picture, and as Keith slammed the door behind him, sprinting down the stairs, that night came back full force. It was stronger than any traumatic flashback he had before in the dead of night, in his sleep, suddenly struck with fear for no reason in the middle of the street. The overly potent drinks, the saltiness of the last margarita, the drunken kisses that the bouncers were supposed to have stopped, the way hands beat him—all of it. In terrifyingly accurate detail.

Keith fought to breathe as more of that night slammed into him, punching any sense he had left out of him as he stumbled and ran away from his apartment.

His mind reminded him how Sendak’s hands were all over her, as were many others. He was reminded how each of those men had their turn, stabbing him over and over again with their dicks, not caring where they were going—his mouth or ass. They didn’t care. When he turned away they beat him—the drugs in his system made him complacent and moldable. Easily manipulated.

That night had lasted longer than he had ever wanted believe. _Please it let it be over, please let it end, I don’t want to die here, I don’t want to die, don’t kill me please…_ It was a dream in which he couldn’t run without feeling he was underwater. A dream that felt like years rather than hours. A dream where all of the worst things happened to remind him that the world was fucked up and unfixable.

Eventually his denial had faded away to acceptance and he was left as a mess in the morning. Club security finding him in one of the back rooms, still out cold.

Keith tripped over the curb outside of his apartment and his knees hit the pavement with a painful crack. He scrambled back to his feet and kept going. He didn’t even pay attention to _where_ , he just _went_. He had to get far away, as far away as possible.

No, no, no nono—

It was almost 5AM—it had to be. The streets were starting to fill, and more cars were starting to pass him on the streets. Each time someone crossed paths with him on the sidewalk, he flinched away and turned a different direction. When a car came too close, he would search for the next alley and hide behind the dumpster.

_Was he being followed? Did_ he _know where he was going?_

… Was he safe?

_**###** _

Eventually, Keith fled to the subway tunnels, panting and stumbling around in his heeled boots. Fuck, he was a disaster. Shit, shit, shit—

He kept his head down and tried to find an empty bathroom. As soon as he found an empty family restroom, he slammed the door behind him and locked the door. Keith slid to the ground, exhausted.

Sendak found him.

_Sendak had found him._

Oh god, that sick fuck had found where he _lived_.

A sobbed racked through him—desperate and choked off. What was he going to do? He—He had nowhere to go, he was so fucking screwed.

His brain was going a mile a minute, trying to think of different scenarios of where he could possibly go but _fuck_ , he couldn’t stop _crying._ With everything that had happened, he couldn’t stop running through every dreadfully awful scenario in his head, every horrible outcome. Everything outside this room was riddled with hazards and the possibility that Sendak was following him this whole time. He wanted it to be over. He let himself get lazy, complacent with his situation. No matter how much he hated it, he had been safe.

Or so he thought.

He curled up on the floor, back to the door, making himself as small as possible. Tears tracked dark paths down his face, the leftover mascara and eyeliner finally washing away as he broke down. He didn’t know what he could do. Instinct told him to call Shiro, but there was no fucking way that was happening. That bridge was burned, ash on the wind.

It took hours for him to calm down, hours before his breathing finally returned to normal, and on shaky legs, he stumbled to the sink. Splashing cold water over his face, Keith planted his hands on the edge of the sink, staring down the drain. He was a stripper, a whore.

He raised his head to stare at himself in the gross mirror. He looked awful—the kind of awful that you woke up next to the next morning after blackout drinking yourself into oblivion. Eyes puffy and red from crying, lips dry and cracked from running through the freezing weather of Chicago. His eyes were dull and lifeless, just like all that time ago. Just like the time Shiro broke up with him.

It was a look he was bound to see again. Had seen it for months on end. That fire that people saw on a daily basis was fake, the fakest shit he had ever come up with. All of his snark and—and—and…

He let his head fall again.

He…he couldn’t look at himself like this.

Keith backed up from the mirror and went back to his bag, grabbing it and slinging it over his shoulder. He scrubbed his eyes once more, making sure there were no more tears left in them as he took a deep breath and raised his head. He opened the door and walked out.

He left the subway, blinking against the glare of morning sunlight. It had been dark when he entered the subway. With a sigh, he fished his phone out of his coat pocket to try and call someone—anyone. But no matter how many times he pushed the home button or the power button, the thing was dead and he had no charger on him.

“Fuck,” he muttered and shoved it back into his coat.

He pulled out his wallet and checked the amount of cash he had on him. It was enough to buy a gas station charger, maybe something from a corner market. A payphone maybe? Shit, no he couldn’t, he didn’t have everyone’s numbers memorized.

Accepting his fate of spending his last few dollars till his next pay on a phone charger, he tugged his collar higher against the wind, and trudged his way along the street. There were more people out, all of them walking around with a shit-ton of shopping bags. Right, Black Friday was yesterday. There were still some deals going on weren’t there? Keith pulled his gaze away from everyone, and focused on the ground in front of him, stepping around people every once and awhile. Eventually he made it to a small corner market and stepped through the door. It was a quick process of finding a phone charger and handing over the few dollars that it cost before once again Keith was stepping back out into the cold and making his way to the subway tunnels.

The part of the tunnels that he was in now was a lot cleaner than the previous one, and finding a bathroom wasn’t nearly as hard. Again, it was another one of those family ones, large enough for him to sit on the ground without being cramped.

He wasted no time in plugging his phone and waiting for it boot back up. He had a few missed messages from Lance, asking how the show went last night. Keith scrolled right past them and started to think about who he could bum off of for the time being.

There weren’t a lot of people. Short list for someone who was an asshole all the time.

Matt?

Wait, fuck that, he lived with Pidge and there was no way that was going to be a good idea. Keith scrolled past that contact with a dejected sigh. He might as well just start texting and calling people.

 

 

Keith scowled at his phone and tipped his head back to bang against the wall. He should have known that Ezor was going to be like that. Plus, she was with Axca…they were gay as fuck, definitely not his thing. He sighed and scrolled down to Zethrid’s contact and texted her.

 

 

Keith sat for another ten minutes, letting his phone charge a little more before picking himself up yet again that morning. He was so fucking tired at this point. Being awake for more than thirty hours was awful. He really hoped that Zethrid’s couch was comfortable.

He hopped a train heading toward Zethrid’s place, nodding off slightly during the twenty-minute ride. Roughly five stops later, Keith was stepping off onto the platform, bleary-eyed and barely able to keep upright. Thank god Zeth was literally right across the street from the station.

Crossing the street and stomping up her steps, Keith didn’t even have to knock before Zethrid was whisking him inside with a worried look on her face.

“You good there, kiddo?” she asked. “Not like you to be askin’ for help.”

Keith let his duffle bag slump to the floor as he kicked off his boots. “Just… shit came up and I couldn’t stay at my apartment.”

He was dodging the real problem, and he knew that Zethrid knew he was. He heard her sigh. “A’ight, I know it’s none of my business, but if you’re really in trouble, Keith, you gotta tell someone.”

He hung up his coat, just nodding to end the stupid conversation so he could sleep already. “I know. Can I go to sleep now? I’ve been all over the city tonight and I could use the sleep right about now.”

“Yeah, c’mon.” She led him to her living room and gestured to the couch that already had a pillow and blanket waiting for him. “Don’t worry about settin’ an alarm, I’ll wake ya when we need to leave for Daibazaal.”

“Yeah, thanks again, Zeth.”

“No problem, kiddo, get some sleep.”

She didn’t have to tell him twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is everyone ok? You all made it right?
> 
> Let us know what you think in the comments or spam us with asks on our tumblrs ^^
> 
> Sarah: [girlskylark](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/)  
> Mogi: [thespace-dragon](http://thespace-dragon.tumblr.com/)


	12. { he looks so perfect }

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sarah = Lame and names the chapter after the only 5SOS song she ever listened [to](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JoJc3zyXG1Q).   
> Also Sarah: "Mogi's gonna have a hernia over this."

 

 

“Seriously, Keith, just stay with us! Acxa’s totally fine with it—I was kidding with the confetti,” Ezor cried as Keith yanked his sweatshirt over his head. His hair was all fluffed up and frizzy from half-applied hairspray, and as he combed a hand through it, the ends were all crunchy. 

“Honestly, it’s fine,” he insisted, and caught Zethrid’s eye along the way. He could tell that she was secretly pleading that he take Ezor up on the offer. “I honestly just… don’t want to get in your guys’ way. You always complain about how small your apartment is anyway.”

Ezor deflated, sticking her bottom lip out at him as he tucked the red sleeves of his sweatshirt into his jacket sleeves. He zipped it up and stuffed his scarf behind the lapels.

“Fine, but  _ seriously _ , keep me posted, all right? Text me when you find a place tomorrow,” she insisted, and Keith gave in. He could deal with keeping Ezor updated if it meant he didn’t have to live with Ezor and Acxa.

Zethrid clapped a hand over his shoulder and said, “Ready to go?”

He cleared his throat and nodded, feeling the uncertainty of everything tightening in the back of his throat. It always felt like he couldn’t breathe before he cried, so he urgently sucked in deep breaths and exhaled them as calmly as he could on the way out of the club. His breath clouded in front of him, and he stuck close to Zethrid through the parking lot. 

That night he barely slept a wink without jerking awake in his sleep and jolting up. The first shadow he caught his eye on would automatically look like the figure of a person watching him, but after calming his breaths, he’d realize it was nothing more than a shadow on the wall. He paced Zethrid’s living room with the blanket over his shoulders until he wore himself out again, and then double-check that the door was locked. He’d settle back onto the couch, and wait for the cycle to start again.

When the sun returned, Keith decided that he wouldn’t be able to sleep now, especially with light now glaring in his eyes. He got up and made coffee for himself and Zethrid, and curled up on the couch with his phone. He scrolled through his contacts for the hundredth time and hovered over Coran’s name as he had done the past several times. Coran was always nice to him, like a father, but Keith never failed to annoy him once in a while. He couldn’t help but be amused at Coran’s aggravation, and he hoped that it wasn’t enough to stop Coran from lending him a couch to sleep on.

So, at eight in the morning, Keith sent a text inquiring about a couch vacancy, and no more than five minutes later, Coran got back to him: “ _ Of course! My couch is always available to you. _ ” It was followed by an address, and so Keith backed up his duffle, folded the blankets on the couch, and left a note on the counter next to Zethrid’s coffee. He let her know that he found a place to stay, and that she didn’t need to worry herself over it. 

Google Maps took Keith back in the direction of Downtown Daibazaal, and up the stoop of a modern-looking condo building. Keith looked up at all the floor length windows and colorful siding before hunting down Coran’s condo number on the directory. Coran buzzed him in, and in a matter of minutes Keith was knocking on the door.

It was easy for him to assume that “vacant couch” implied “I’m alone without a roommate.” Clearly that was not the case, considering the fact that the door was certainly not opened by his ginger-headed coach. 

Keith’s eyes flew open wide, stuck on the fact that  _ Alfor the bartender _ was staring at him, perplexed and slightly alarmed. Alfor’s jaw dropped, and he floundered to say something before looking back into the room where Coran was in nothing more than his underwear.

“Keith! Come in, come in! We were just making some tea!” Coran declared. 

Keith stared at Alfor again, and tried to step into the apartment, but the line there was just too significant to cross. “I—Um, I’m interrupting something, aren’t I?” Keith said, cringing as he gestured between the two of them. 

Alfor pointed to Keith and said, “What’s he doing here?”

“I’ll just… ask someone else…” Keith started, stepping back into the hallway. 

“Nonsense! Alfor, let him in, don’t be rude,” Coran insisted. “I said you could stay here and I meant it.”

Alfor stepped aside, and Keith grudgingly crossed that bold line, and passed the threshold. He lowered his duffle from his shoulder and let out a shaky breath as he took in the fact that Alfor was in nothing more than a robe, and that this entire situation was beyond any scenario Keith was equipped to deal with. It wasn’t every day he walked in on his boss after the man had sex with a coworker. 

_ This is so fucking weird… _ Keith moaned internally as he hesitantly sat at on the couch and accepted the cup of tea Coran gave him. The moment Keith was settled in, Alfor all but sprinted to the bathroom with his clothes to change. 

Coran stood in the middle of the living room with his tea, hand on his hip, completely at ease in his briefs. Keith forced his eyes away from the man’s  _ Lion King _ inspired underwear pattern and decided that it’d be far better for his current mental state to look at anything but that. 

“So… Keith! How is everything? What brings you here?” Coran asked.

“I—Um… apartment trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“I don’t really… want to talk about it.”

Coran pursed his lips and hummed. Keith turned his eyes up to the ceiling. “Well, as you know, if you ever need help with  _ anything _ …”—at that exact moment Alfor stepped back into the room—“you know I’m always there for you and everyone else at Daibazaal. Don’t hesitate to talk to me, all right?”

“Yep!” Keith squeaked, biting into his lip. “Okay, will do. Good to… good to know.”

He cleared his throat and hid behind his cup of tea while Coran turned to Alfor, just as proud as before about his flaming orange chest hair. Alfor sighed and whipped his robe out at Coran, snapping, “Get some clothes on! Oh my God, Coran.”

“What’s wrong with this,” Coran asked.

“Just about everything I can think of,” he huffed, and Keith snorted into his tea and choked. “Keith, would you want a ride to Daibazaal later?”

“That would be great, thanks,” he said, and hoped that “later” was more like  _ “in thirty minutes.” _

Before any of that, though, Keith finished his tea and stood up. Coran was in the kitchen making breakfast while Alfor sat in the loveseat working on his computer. “Do you think I could quickly use the shower?” he asked, gesturing to the bathroom Alfor used earlier.

“Go ahead,” he said, and so Keith all but sprinted into the bathroom with his duffle. He was barely behind the door when he urgently texted Ezor, “ _ CORAN IS GAY FOR ALFOR I REPEAT CORAN IS GAY FOR ALFOR Kill me nowww _ .”

Considering the situation the night before last, Keith was grateful for a chance to clean up. He felt like a walking greaseball, especially with some of his makeup still leftover from last night. He spent longer than necessary hiding out in Coran’s shower before deciding that it’d be rude to use up any more of the water. He stepped out and dried off with a towel from above the toilet, and sighed at the sight of two toothbrushes at the sink.  _ Unbelievable… _ he thought.

Thankfully, Alfor was leaving for his apartment when Keith emerged, and so he snagged a ride and escaped with his duffle and jacket. Coran waved innocently from the kitchen, and Keith dreaded having to tell Coran that this just wouldn’t work out. No. Can. Do.

It was, perhaps, the most awkward car ride Keith ever endured. He never thought it was possible for silence to be so palpable. It was crushing and came in the form of their conjoined thoughts screaming, “ _ I CAN’T BELIEVE ANY OF THIS HAPPENED OH MY GOD I CAN NEVER LIVE THIS DOWN _ .” The two minute long car ride felt more like an hour, but the moment Keith shoved open the door, the awkwardness ceased. 

“Thanks for the ride!” he said, waving amiably to Alfor.

“No problem! See you at work tonight,” he replied, beaming at Keith just before he slammed the door shut.

It was far too early for the dancers to be at Daibazaal, and so Keith was forced to use his key to unlock the backdoor and let himself in. All of the lights were off, and his footsteps carried across the club from the back room to the front, from the makeup room to the bar. Keith turned his mirror light on and swapped his shoes for warmup.

He flicked on one stage light and jumped down onto the ground floor. All of the chairs were lifted up onto the tables and bar. He leaned over the bar door and reached for an empty glass. He poured himself a Coca Cola and sat wordlessly on the edge of the stage drinking it. His stomach soon growled, though, and he was forced to search for something that would hold him over until people started showing up.

There wasn’t much in terms of food in the kitchen—mostly they just sold drinks during the night, but they had appetizers every now and again. Keith rifled around for a bag of soft pretzels and tossed it into the microwave to heat it up. He didn’t bother with pouring the fake cheese into a bowl and dipped the pretzel straight into the bite-size plastic container. 

Halfway through the pretzel, he pulled his knees up on the countertop and dialed his landlord’s number. He knew this chat would be a shitshow, but he couldn’t let it go on until the landlord found the disaster for himself.

“You know there’s been noise complaints about you.” It was the first thing out of his landlord’s mouth.

“I wouldn’t doubt it. Something… uh, something happened at my apartment the other night. I haven’t been back since,” he started warily, and tread cautiously as he explained the situation. The breakin. The damaged furniture that wasn’t his. The holes in the wall, broken doors. Food absolutely everywhere. He didn’t care so much about the television, or really…  _ anything _ in there. “I’ll pay for the damages and shit just—”

“Do you think it’d happen again?” the guy asked, and when Keith didn’t answer straight away, he heard his landlord sigh. “Look, I can’t go around fixing shit up just for it to be ruined again. Does that make sense?”

“Yes. Completely, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry this happened I just—”

“I’d hate to have to cast you out on the streets, Keith. You still have a month left on your lease.”

“I know. And I don’t feel safe there at the moment so… I’ll just… pay for the damages and the rent until my lease is up in January. I don’t care about anything that’s in there now so if… I’d hate to bother you…”

“Toss everything out? Donate it? What is it.”

“Whatever. I don’t know, sell it or something. I don’t need any of it. There’s some DVDs and… and my Blueray and some clothes but…”

“Fine. That should cover it then. I’ll keep you posted on the damages.”

“Great, thank you.” 

As soon as the call was over, Keith realized that he was essentially just living out of his duffle bag for the past year. Back and forth from work. He had spare clothes in there, his entire shampoo, conditioner, face wash routine. Hell, he even had three different pairs of shoes, not to mention the ones he kept at Daibazaal. 

He just… never settled after Shiro.

Keith dunked the last bit of his pretzel in cheese and popped it in his mouth. He tossed the container away and turned off the light in the kitchen.

He practiced alone for an hour or two before dancers started shuffling in one by one. When Zethrid showed, she clapped Keith on the back and said, “Everything good?”

“Yeah, it should be,” he said, smiling up at her until the moment she turned away.  _ Right _ . He was now without a place to stay. Again.

That night, all through his performances, he went through everyone on the team, thinking,  _ Could I live with them? _ He wasn’t close enough to Ulaz or Thace, and he was certain Nyma hated him ironically, which would make living with her awkward and unbearable. With his apartment no longer an option, he wondered how long it would take for him to find a place and sign a lease before the end of the year. Unlikely. Christmas session was starting, and people were looking for gifts instead of apartments. Even if he  _ did _ sign a lease, it wasn’t likely that he’d be able to move in ASAP. 

_ Motel? _ No, definitely not. Living alone again would spike his paranoia tenfold. Any remote sound would send him running to the kitchen for a knife.

_ I still have all of my furniture from before living with Shiro… _ he thought, but he had already considered living in a storage garage before, back when he and Shiro broke up. He actually did, as well, for a night or two. Back then, Ezor was single and Shiro offered to ask her if Keith could stay with her once in a while. So he did, and they became fast friends because of it despite their clearly polar-opposite personalities. 

So, after work, Keith left swiftly after breaking his agreement with Coran off. He struggled to breathe throughout the night when he wasn’t thinking about where he’d stay. Shiro was still at the bar, unaware of the fact that Keith’s mental state was dissolving again. It continued to deteriorate when Keith abandoned the notion of asking Shiro for help. They weren’t at that stage anymore,  _ especially _ after Keith blew up at him for sleeping with Lance. 

_ You overreact. You’re so quick tempered _ , he thought, breath quivering. He sniffled and pushed his gloved hands over his cheeks as he picked up his pace.  _ You shouldn’t have blown up at him like that—he’s just trying to get over this. Why can’t you just move the fuck on? _

So no calling Shiro. 

Lotor?

_ No, I still hate him. I don’t know why, but I just do _ , he sighed internally. 

At the storage garage plot, Keith hefted the door high over his head, teeth chattering as the lights across the yard cast his shadow over the bleak, practically-abandoned furniture covered in white sheets. His arms were exhausted just from opening the door, and so he let them sway at his sides until he stepped in and had to close the door again. 

With his phone light, he found the light string and yanked on it. The bulb overhead flickered on, but it just illuminated the fact that he could see his breath in the cold.  _ Blanket, blanket, blanket _ , he pleaded, wandering to the back of the unit where he left his motorcycle parked in the winter. He always kept it covered in his warmest blankets, and on top of them all was a  _ heavy _ knitted wool blanket that never ceased to make breathing a little more difficult in the night. It was perfect for now, though. 

Keith dropped onto one of the couches and bundled up in the wool blanket. He tucked it over his head and cradled his phone close to his face. His hot breath was starting to warm up his face, but it just made his nose runny. He rubbed the back of his hand over his nose and sighed, watching his phone blink to life and show a text from Lance.

 

**Lance:** _ Hey! How are you? I haven’t heard from you all today really  
_ _ Rosa left today D: she has school tomorrow _

**Keith:** _ Hey I’m fine. Just bumming around the city _

**Lance:** _ Ha! Sounds like fun. Wish I wasn’t sick otherwise I’d join you _

**Keith:** _ Not as fun as it sounds, but I’ll take it.  
_ _ Are you feeling better? _

**Lance:** _ More or less :) I’ve already gone through an entire box of your kleenex  
_ _ Seriously that was really cool what you did _

**Keith:** _ It was nothing _

**Lance:** __ Sorry Rosa had to rope you into that.  
_ And Shiro  
_ __ She’s the devil I tell you

**Keith:** _ I’m sure she isn’t. She seems sweet _

**Lance:** _ So… tomorrow’s Monday _

**Keith:** _ It is _

**Lance:** _ And I’m feeling a little better _

**Keith:** _ You are _

**Lance:** _ Would you… want to hang out?  
_ _ Watch movies or something? Nothing too crazy _

**Keith:** _ Maybe _

**Lance:** _ Maybe? What’s THAT supposed to mean XD _

**Keith:** _ Life’s a little… complicated right now  
_ _ I don’t want to drag you into it _

**Lance:** __ I don’t care  
_ Here take my hand and I’ll lay on the ground and you can drag me through it  
_ __ My body is ready

**Keith:** _ Oh my God, Lance… _

**Lance:** _ Take it take my hand Keith _

**Keith:** _ Lance no  
_ _ You don’t understand _

**Lance:** _ Ok but real talk what’s troubling my sweet boy? _

**Keith:** _ You really have no boundaries  
_ _ What is that nickname _

**Lance:** _ It’s cute and I love it. Tell me? _

**Keith:** _ Fine.   
_ _ My apartment was broken into so I’ve just been couch-hopping.  _

**Lance:** __ Oh no are you okay??  
_ I mean of course you aren’t what am I saying  
_ __ Who’s couch are you on now?

**Keith:** _ Technically my own.   
_ _ I kept some furniture in a storage unit so I’m just… hanging out here until I figure something out _

**Lance:** _ SERIOUSLY? It’s, like, twenty degrees out  
_ _ Dude come to my place I have a futon and shit just hang out here for a while _

 

Keith’s eyes watered before he could stop it from happening. He sucked in a deep breath, biting into his lip as he nestled back on the couch, eyes towards the ceiling. The light bulb’s glow dappled in through the open patches of the wool. In the midst of trying to calm the fuck down, his phone vibrated, and it was Lance saying, “ _ Don’t go all silent on my now buddy. I’m serious, just don’t sleep in a fucking storage unit. Not tonight _ .”

Eventually, Keith found the strength to sit up and text with numb fingers that he’d start heading over. As he tossed the blanket over his bike and shut off the light again, Lance promised to have hot chocolate ready for his arrival.

Keith lugged his duffle back over his shoulder on his way out of the storage garage. He shut the door and quickly rubbed his sleeve over his eyes to make sure his tears wouldn’t crystalize on his eyelashes. 

It took twenty minutes to walk to Lance’s place, and somehow Keith still found his irrationality coming through, even after all that time he spent thinking through the situation. He barely  _ knew _ Lance, and he wanted to know Lance better, but not like this. It didn’t take a genius to find out that the last thing Keith wanted Lance to know was how much of a mess he was. This was just a gateway into is never-ending issues of pent up bullshit. They’d be living together for who knew how long—Keith averaged a week, no more. He’d spend that entire week looking for a place to stay.  _ Relentless _ . He didn’t want to involve Lance. He didn’t.

So Keith hesitated at the steps leading below the stoop. He could see the Christmas lights on through the foggy glass square on Lance’s door. From the street, on the other side of the stoop, Keith saw the multicolored glow filtered behind the tapestry. 

_ Don’t ruin this by invading his privacy _ , Keith told himself, and pulled out his phone to let Lance know that he found another place to stay. He’d just… get a hotel room for a night. Just a night—

The door opened before Keith could even type out a word with his numb fingers.

“What’re you doing standing out there! C’mon, c’mon,” Lance said, voice still stuffy. 

Keith stared at him from the sidewalk, and he could tell Lance was about ready to race out there in his bare feet to drag Keith in. So, he gingerly opened the gate and closed it, plodding down the steps to meet Lance. He stopped at the threshold, though, refusing to be tempted by the warmth beyond Lance’s open door.

“What is it?” Lance asked, looking ridiculous in his bright blue pajamas, and the blanket he wore like a cape. 

Keith stomach ached so much that it twisted his throat in that sensation he got just before he started crying. He was living on a pretzel, Coca Cola,  and the built-up exhaustion from all weekend. It really wasn’t a surprise when he burst into tears at Lance’s door.

He hadn’t sobbed so hard in  _ ages _ . He couldn’t remember the last time he cried so hard he couldn’t move without being guided, tears blurring his vision and spilling over his cheeks in rivulets. Lance moved him down the steps and hurriedly shut and locked the door. Keith couldn’t make it to the futon, and nearly sat right on the ground. Lance urged him to walk a little further and make himself comfortable on the blanket Lance laid out for him on the futon.

Keith covered his hand over his mouth, attempting to mute himself until Lance forced him to take handfuls of Kleenex followed by a glass of water. Lance ran around kitchen grabbing an entire chocolate bar from the cupboard and a bag of Goldfish. He nudged the hot chocolate onto the coffee table as Keith could finally speak in between gasps.

“I—I’m s-sorry, oh my God,” Keith all but wheezed, clutching the tissues to his mouth as he took a bit of chocolate Lance snapped off of the bar.

“Just eat this. You look like you’re about to pass out,” Lance said. “How much have you eaten today?”

“I—” he hiccuped before he could say anything more. He took deep breaths before saying, “I just… had a pretzel before work…”

“What else?”

Keith shook his head.

“What about yesterday?”

He shook his head again, unable to remember what he had for breakfast that day. 

Lance forced the mug of hot chocolate into Keith’s frozen hands. “I’m going to toss in a pizza, okay?” Lance offered, and Keith nodded wordlessly, his face sticky and stiff from crying. 

Keith left his bunched-up tissues on the coffee table until he finished the chocolate bar and shed his coat. He was  _ sweating _ . He kicked off his shoes and stood up, ignoring the headrush that followed as he walked into the kitchen and threw out the tissues. 

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened,” Keith confessed, eyes on the ground until he felt rather than saw Lance come closer. He looked up and accepted the silent invitation for a hug.

Lance wrapped his arms around Keith’s neck and said, “It happens. I’m surprised you’re still on your feet.”

Keith huffed uselessly against Lance’s blanket-cape. He hugged the shit out of Lance because he didn’t know what to do in this situation. He didn’t plan to meltdown in front of Lance. 

“I’ll get out of your hair as soon as possible,” Keith promised.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow, okay? We don’t need to talk about it now.  _ Definitely _ don’t need to,” Lance reassured him, stepping back to wave his hands dismissively. “There’s a bathroom to the right of my bedroom. And if you need pajamas I’ve got  _ tons _ of them.”

Keith laughed as best he could and took up the offer. He left to grab his duffle, and followed Lance to the bathroom where he set a stack of clothes on the toilet lid. Once the door was closed, Keith realized that he was breathing properly again, and he didn’t feel better or worse. He was just… fine, and that was far better than anything he was before then. 

 

. . .

 

Keith slept like the dead until  _ late, _ late morning in time for an early lunch. He would have continued sleeping through the evening if the smell of coffee grounds didn’t stir him first. 

Given the minimal coverage on the windows, the living room was bright and colorful, reflecting the hues in the tapestry. Keith stretched his stiff legs and curled his toes, urging the aching sensation in his feet to fade away. The futon was surprisingly comfortable, but perhaps that was just his exhaustion talking.

“Morning!” chirped Lance from the kitchen. Keith stood up and stretched as Lance continued, “I was just making some coffee. Shiro mentioned something about you loving it in the morning.”

“I do,” he hummed, settling into one of the stools as Lance turned with a brilliantly innocent smile. Keith cleared his throat and looked elsewhere. How could Lance mention Shiro so casually?  _ He doesn’t know about us _ , Keith reminded himself. “Uh… thanks for letting me crash here on such short notice.”

“I don’t mind. Besides! Now we could spend all day together watching movies and stuff—unless… you have other plans?” Lance said, raising his eyebrows hopefully. Keith shook his head, and managed a weak smile when Lance yelped in excitement and did a little dance over the tiles.

“Are you always this energetic in the morning?” Keith asked, and realized just how groggy he sounded. Like he spent the whole night screaming the lyrics at a metal concert.

“Most of the time, yes,” he said. “Especially on days I don’t work. And this is one of them.”

“Never would have known. It’s not like we work together or anything,” Keith scoffed, and winked at Lance. 

Lance turned pink, and leapt a foot in the air when the toaster popped. 

“I, um, I was thinking last night,” he started, distracting himself from turning red all over. Lance could hardly believe  _ thee _ Keith Kogane was sitting in his kitchen at this very moment.

“About… what happened?” Keith offered, and Lance caught a glimpse of his worry before waving it off with an urgent shake of his head.

“No! No, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I was just thinking about you living here and all and I just—”

“Living here. What exactly are those… terms?” Keith asked, but before Lance could explain, Keith was going on, saying, “Because, I mean, I was sort of planning on apartment hunting and all that and if all goes well I’ll be gone by the end of the week and you won’t have to—”

“If you’re crunching the timeline so much for my sake, then forget about it,” Lance said, all but slapping the toast onto a plate for Keith. “This apartment’s big enough for two people. You could live here for real—if you wanted. I’d be fine with it.”

Keith clamped his mouth shut to keep his jaw from falling as Lance smiled encouragingly at him. “Oh,” was all he could say.

Lance joined him at the counter and sat beside him. “But, um… before you decide or anything, I should probably mention something first,” he said, and spared a glance at Keith, who couldn’t take his eyes off of Lance. Lance looked down at his plate and fiddled with the crust on his toast for a moment. “I suppose… one of the reasons I’d want you to live here is because I honestly just… really like you? In a kind of romantic way? And at first I thought I was going crazy and all but I’ve spent enough time debating it to realize that it’s true. So that’s just… something you should know before you decide to live with me, I guess.”

“Why?” Keith blurted out, and groaned when Lance started laughing. “I’m serious! Why do you like me? I was so mean to you before.”

Lance covered his smile and looked over at Keith with such fondness in his eyes. Keith tried to stop himself from smiling, but he couldn’t do it. Not when Lance was looking at him like that.

“I guess I’m just attracted to guys who don’t like me,” Lance decided.

Keith rolled his eyes and said, “Then that can’t be me.”

“Is this you confessing your undying love?”

“Yes, clearly,” he said sarcastically, laughing along with Lance. The coffee machine sputtered out, and so Lance hopped off his stool to pour them both their share of coffee. “I would… honestly love living with you, Lance,” Keith said, worrying his lip between his teeth as Lance gasped in excitement.

Lance faltered at the look on Keith’s face. “What is it? You look concerned.”

“I was just… wondering if Shiro comes through here a lot?” he said, hoping he didn’t sound as concerned as he looked. “I mean, I know you two are… were… whatever…?”

“Oh,” Lance said, lowering the mugs down in front of Keith. “Oh! Oh? Wait, what’s this about—I’m confused. I told you we aren’t dating.”

“I know! I know, it’s just… does he? Come through here a lot?” he said, raising an eyebrow at Lance as Lance ran through the situation in his head no doubt a hundred times over. It didn’t take a genius to assume that Keith was wondering if Lance would still be sleeping with Shiro after he confessed to liking Keith. At least, that was the conclusion Lance came to.

“Is this about…? Are we planning on…? Dating?” Lance asked, and Keith slapped his hands over his face. “What! Honest question!”

“I know, I know. You just look so confused—it’s funny.”

“Are you jealous of Shiro?”

“ _ Lance! _ Oh my God, no—I mean, who  _ wouldn’t _ be, but in terms of this—”

“I know! He’s a flawless specimen!” Lance cried, and Keith burst into laughter before he could stop himself. “Just  _ seeing _ him behind the bar working his magic just makes me want to…  _ ugh! _ ” Lance made grabby hands at the air in front of Keith’s face before he deflated, crying, “I’ve never seen so much muscle on a single human being. It’s unfair.”

“He  _ was _ in the military… and before that he was kind of a bodybuilder-slash-children’s ballet instructor,” Keith said.

“See? What’d I tell you? Flawless.”

“You’re so ridiculous,” he laughed, shaking his head. He looked down at his mug again before lifting it to his lips.  _ God _ , did he love coffee. Lance leant against the countertop across from Keith and drank from his own mug, sharing a cheeky smile with Keith over the rim.

They watched each other in silence for another few moments as Keith debated, and Lance sighed in innocence and ignorance. 

They opened their mouths and spoke at the same time:

“But seriously you’re  _ so _ perfec—”

“Shiro and I were together until a year ago.”


	13. { don't pretend like we're lovers }

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LANCE'S NEW OCCUPATION: Being the shoulder to cry on, and you know what ??? HE'S GONNA DO HIS DAMN BEST AT IT FOR KEITH'S SAKE. Ain't nothin' like two bros bonding over a mutual betrayal. Lance is 10/10 ready to start a vindictive cult forged from the fury of REVENGE ON A CERTAIN TAKASHI SHIROGANE. Cult meetings will include an infinite supply of garlic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[ x ](https://youtu.be/ag_9MsoErQc?t=16s)]

Keith went over the history, but not without his afternoon coffee and then a bottle of wine that took them into the evening talking about everything to do with  _ Shiro _ . He skipped over the details of their breakup, aside from the difficulties of living with his ex for several weeks. On more than one occasion, Lance threw his arms over his face and moaned, “I’m such an  _ idiot! _ ” and Keith would say, “We aren’t the idiots—he is, though.”

“I was  _ so convinced _ that neither of us had moved on,” he went on as he checked his phone. It was five in the evening, and pitch black outside. “When he drove me to work on Friday I talked to him about it. At least he was right about one thing.”

“What’s that?” Lance said, voice muffled behind his hands. He peeked out from between his fingers at Keith, who was too weak to keep a straight face.

Keith smiled and said, “That you help a lot. With… all of this mess. Even before you knew what was going on, too.”

“What’s  _ that _ supposed to mean?”

“At first I thought he was just talking about your dick or something but—”

“Hey!”

“—just talking with you makes life a little easier.”

Lance curled up into a ball and fell back against the mattress, moaning and groaning until Keith reached over and pat his hand on Lance’s leg. Lance floundered until he shook out all of his limbs and stopped with his eyes on the ceiling, saying, “I never knew… I never even  _ suspected—! _ ” 

“I know… And I just… I assumed and so I was such an  _ asshole _ to you—”

“Ah! And poor Shiro, he never mentioned anything about—”

“I know, he doesn’t like to talk about it… but he must have trusted you because—”

“I don’t know why, but I feel so  _ used _ —but he had no reason to tell me. I have no business knowing about past relationships so I never think to  _ ask— _ ”

“It’s fine, Lance, honestly,” Keith insisted, shaking his head. “Not everyone likes to talk about past relationships. You never know what people are trying to forget. You’re just looking out for your partners. And I doubt Shiro wanted to burden you with all this. He knows I can get pissy sometimes so he probably just didn’t want to give you a reason to actively avoid me.”

“You’re right… I probably would have avoided you. This would have made you ten times more intimidating to approach…” Lance confessed with a wistful sigh.

Keith laughed, propping his foot up onto the futon where they eventually settled as a more comfortable alternative to the island counter stools. He leant his chin atop his knee and looked at Lance, who looked down at his hands and picked at his nails. 

“I… don’t think I could have got the courage to sorta ask you out if Shiro hadn’t encouraged me,” Lance admitted with a shrug. “He let me rant about you and… that probably didn’t help matters with him trying to forget about you and all that.”

“Aw, you two talked about me.”

“Don’t make this more dramatic than it was,” Lance huffed, scowling at Keith. Keith laughed, tipping back against the futon cushions so his head rested on the back of it, facing Lance. “I’m sorry. For being so ignorant.”

“It’s fine, Lance. I’m just… I’m glad this isn’t awkward. You know, how sometimes if you finally get to talk to your crush, it kind of ruins the effect?”

“And… the effect isn’t ruined?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at Keith. When Keith shook his head, Lance sighed in relief. “Thank  _ God _ .”

They both checked their phones for the time, and after Keith set his phone down, saying, “Dinner?” Lance was still looking at his phone. He frowned at the text notification sitting there, worrying his lip between his teeth. He glanced at Keith, and then back at his phone, unlocking it. “What is it?” Keith asked.

“Shiro just texted me,” he said, and just thinking about the man gave Lance a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach that told him that he  _ just didn’t know _ . He didn’t know how to deal with Shiro now—it was like all of his conversational abilities went down the drain now that he knew Keith and Shiro’s history.

He turned to Keith, clutching at his arm. “What do I say?!”

“Well, what’d he say?”

“I don’t know! Answer for me—wait, no, sorry— _ ah _ , God I’m so stupid. What do I say to him?”

“Okay, Lance,” Keith said, holding Lance’s arm right back so that Lance could realize just how tightly he was squeezing Keith’s bicep, “first off: what did he say.”

“Oh, right,” he said, looking down at his phone and deflating when he realized that it was just an inquiry on whether or not he needed anything for dinner. “I don’t want to respond…” he moaned.

“Why not?”

“Why not?  _ Why not? _ Look at what he did to you—”

Keith furrowed his brows at Lance, who shrunk in on himself under that withering stare of Keith’s. “Shiro didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. So what, we broke up, big whoop. People break up all the time, Lance.”

“But he broke your heart…”

“Hearts can be repaired, dumbass. It’s just… taken a bit longer than usual, I have to admit,” Keith said, looking down at his hands for a moment before pinning Lance with that glare again. “Not all relationships end smoothly, and sometimes they do end and that’s that. Shiro’s still Shiro. I doubt he’s changed much, which means he’s still logical and caring. If you don’t answer he’ll assume you’re dead.”

“Oh God, I don’t want that.”

“Right, so you have to answer him and say you’ve already got dinner taken care of. Then he doesn’t have to come here,” Keith said, and when Lance’s uncertainty showed on his face, Keith took the phone and texted it himself. “Who’s acting like Shiro’s ex in this situation, huh?”

“ _ What _ —you can’t blame me for being in shock here!” Lance cried, waving his arms around like mad. “Shiro’s, like, one of those types of guys you assume never had to break up with anyone! He’s just too nice to be broken up with or do the breaking… up,” he said, ducking head down between his shoulders. “I mean, have you ever met anyone like that?”

Keith turned his eyes up to the ceiling, and then tipped them towards the tapestry covering the windows. “Um… not necessarily. I’ve met people who just seem too wholesome to date? Like, wise enough to know that it’s all a trap.”

“Right, exactly.”

“Maybe Shiro before we started dating,” he confessed. “No one else, really.  _ Maybe _ Allura? That’s a hard maybe, though.”

“Yeah, I can see that. She has this angelic glow going…”

“Which, if we’re going with that whole scenario, means that she’s already died and come back to us, which means she’s probably gone through all this shit before. Maybe she actually is an angel,” Keith suggested, and Lance lowered his hand from the back cushion to look at Keith, jaw dropping. Keith raised his eyebrows back at him.

“I like the way you  _ think _ ,” Lance said, pushing himself off the futon. “Toast to that! And also actual toast, because I’m starving.”

“Ooh, I’m down for alcohol. Give me everything,” Keith said, reaching after Lance with his grabby-hand gesture that had Lance giggling on his way to the kitchen. 

Lance pulled out the ingredients that would save Lance’s sinuses from destruction, and prevent Keith from going down the same sickly path Lance did. He tossed pasta into a pot full of boiling water along with a shredded leaf of basil before ripping off several cloves from his stash of garlic. Keith wandered over after updating Zeth and Ezor on his whereabouts, and raised his eyebrow at all of the garlic.

“Isn’t that a bit mu—” 

Lance reached over the counter with his garlicy finger, silencing Keith’s complaints. Keith swiped his hand at Lance’s, and licked his lips to get the taste off. 

In went the spinach and garlic to the saucepan simmering lemon-flavored olive oil. He tossed in diced tomatoes and washed his hands of the juices before splitting an avocado in two. He jabbed the knife against the pit, plucked it out, and tossed it in the bin. As he gutted one half of the avocado, Keith snuck in behind him and checked on the pasta. The apartment was soon filled with the aroma of sauteed vegetables and garlic, and Keith seasoned the saucepan with salt before Lance turned around to take the noodles off the heat. 

Lance directed Keith to the alcohol pantry, which wasn’t nearly as full as Lance expected it to be when he first got the apartment. “Because I never had a college phase, I thought I’d drink myself silly the second I got the place. And technically I did! Shiro picked me up off the road and helped me get here because I was so hammered,” Lance explained.

“No kidding. Why doesn’t that surprise me,” Keith hummed to himself as he checked the wine bottles. After taking a glance at Lance, Keith reassured himself that he wouldn’t need anything heavy that night, and so he decided to pour two glasses of red wine for the both of them instead of the vodka he was so dearly craving. After a weekend like his…

“Serious question,” Lance said as he poured the noodles into a colander. Keith turned to him, and felt dread seep in when he saw the smirk on Lance’s face. Lance gestured to the wine. “Is what you said at the pizza place true? After work you get naked, drink wine, and watch  _ Friends _ ?”

Keith blinked at him, jaw dropping as he realized that he didn’t even remember saying such things out loud. He put a hand over his mouth, and caught Lance’s eye long enough to justify blushing. He turned away with his glass and walked off without a word. 

“Really?! Because I’m one hundred percent down for that!” Lance shouted after him. Keith flipped him off as he was in the process of taking his first gulp of wine.

They pushed the pillows and spare blankets up on Lance’s bed so that they could use the wall as a headboard to rest on. He had a makeshift tray made out of old wood from his grandfather’s barn, and so they put their meals on top of it along with their glasses of wine—gingerly, so as not to spill it. 

Keith pulled his laptop out of his work duffle, only to be interrupted by Lance doing the same. They argued for a while over what to watch, and by then, they were through with half their meal. The rest of their meal was spent over an episode of  _ Broad City  _ and another glass of wine. Keith’s stomach was full by the end, and he was all warm and toasty in Lance’s bed that he fell asleep shortly after saying, “I love days where I get to just stay inside all day…”

Lance didn’t realize Keith was sleeping until another episode ended and he debated playing another. He set the tray aside and finished off Keith’s last glass for him. All the lights were still on, he realized, and groaned as he pushed himself up to his feet and clamored off the bed. He shut off his bedroom light and went ahead to the kitchen with the empty dishes in hand. 

In the midst of cleaning the dishes, the clock hit eight thirty, and a knock sounded on his apartment door. He hadn’t checked his phone at all throughout watching  _ Broad City _ with Keith, and so as he dried his hands and headed up to the door, he missed the text from Shiro saying that he’d stop by for five minutes or so to drop off some things.

Lance checked the peephole and nearly leapt straight out of his skin at the sight of Shiro standing there with a small paper bag in hand.  _ He’s a logical person—he’ll just think you’re too ill to answer the door and knock harder so that he could help you _ , Lance reasoned with himself, reminded of what Keith said about Shiro. 

Hesitantly, he unlocked the door and opened it just a tad. “Hey,” he whispered, “what are you doing here?”

“I left you a text, but I won’t be here long anyways,” Shiro reassured him with one of his stellar smiles that said he couldn’t harm a fly even if he tried. He lifted the baggie, saying, “I  _ would _ stop by in the morning, but I’ve got shit to do with Lotor and Coran. I remembered something my mom used to get me when I was sick in grade school—so here’s some turmeric to add to your tea, or make some tea yourself on the stove with ginger and black pepper. There’s also some peppermint in there if your throat’s still sore.”

“Oh,” Lance said, certain that he didn’t retain a single bit of that as he looked at the baggie Shiro was offering him. He nearly reached out and took it, but thought twice when he glanced back into the apartment. Keith was likely still passed out in the other room, and so Lance grabbed a coat and hurriedly snuck outside after Shiro. 

He shut the door behind him.

“What is it? Trust me, turmeric chai is one of the best—” Shiro started, but Lance waved a hand to shush him as he shrugged on his coat. His feet were freezing out on the concrete. 

“No, no, it’s not that,” Lance said. “It’s just—Keith’s inside and—”

“Oh,” Shiro hummed, and then his eyes grew bright and startled Lance with his smile. “Oh! Oh, God, that’s great, Lance! Congrats, seriously.”

Lance’s expression twisted up, and he looked away long enough for Shiro to pick up exactly what Lance didn’t want to say. He reached a hand back, scratching his hair before hurriedly crossing his arms. When he looked back, Shiro had stepped back. 

“He told you, then,” Shiro said quietly.

“More or less,” Lance said. “More than what you’ve told me.”

He waited to see the guilt, or maybe the frustration of being caught, but Shiro looked more pensive than anything. He tucked the baggie under one arm and reached his hand up to scratch at the shadow growing on his chin, worrying his lip between his teeth for a moment. He looked back down at Lance. 

Lance was becoming more and more furious the longer Shiro stayed quiet. It was against everything Lance strived for, but the surge of hatefulness was more compelling than forgiveness at the time.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” he demanded.

“Because I don’t know what to tell you,” Shiro said. “I don’t know if you want to hear my reasoning, or if you just want me to say something to make it all better. I just—I don’t know, Lance, honestly.”

“You shouldn’t have to censor yourself— _ tell me _ . Why didn’t you say anything?  _ Especially _ when I started showing interest in him! You knew I liked him!” Lance exclaimed, and wasn’t at all surprised when his anger turned into tears. It always did, and he never knew why he couldn’t yell at someone without breaking down. Rosa was the same as him in that respect. 

“I know we didn’t—we weren’t dating, Lance, but sometimes it felt like we were,” Shiro said, and continued before Lance could demand why this was important, why he needed to hear that  _ now _ of all times. “And in my experience, talking about exes with a significant other just turns them away from that person! When you’re dating someone, you can’t help but be on their side at all times, and that’s when exes become antagonistic. I didn’t want to influence how you saw Keith. I don’t know  _ why _ , but exes are always talked about like they’re awful and should be hated, and I wouldn’t want to do that to Keith—especially not to you!

“And I don’t care how unbiased you say you are—had I told you, and had you met him… He can be really aggressive to strangers he doesn’t know, and the first thought that would’ve come to your mind was ‘Wow, Shiro’s ex is an asshole no wonder they broke up.’ Is that not what you would have thought? Isn’t it?” Shiro demanded.

Lance couldn’t form words. He was pinned under the truth of a flaw he and most everyone had. He didn’t want to face the fact that he would have judged Keith incredibly more had he known that Keith was Shiro’s ex. He knew Shiro before Keith—that alone would have influenced Lance’s conception of their relationship.

“Fine,” Lance bit out. “But that doesn’t excuse why you broke up with him in the first place.”

“No, it doesn’t,” he said, looking out onto the street. “What did he tell you about that?”

Lance shrugged, saying, “Something happened at work… needed a new job… you helped him out.”

Shiro stayed silent for a moment longer, and it was like he was testing Lance’s internal timer that told him when to explode and when not to. He was nearly at his exploding time when Shiro spoke up again: “Can I be truthful with you?”

“What?”

“Just right now, since I don’t know if anything will change your mind about me, or... if you’ll ever want to see me again,” Shiro said, and his hesitation drew Lance’s attention up to his eyes. The cold made his nose pink, and Lance tried to convince himself that the cold was the same reason Shiro’s eyes were red. 

“Fine. What is it?” Lance said.

Shiro looked down at their feet, and hesitated at the sight of Lance’s pink toes peeking out from underneath his oversized pajama bottoms. “Even before I went overseas… I had some issues with just… coping with life in general? It sounds dramatic, but I never thought I was in the right place at the right time but somehow everything just went fine without me even trying. There was nothing wrong with my family life or school, and that just sort of drove me away from it. Because I knew the world wasn’t perfect and I kept saying to myself, ‘You’re so sheltered—do something insane just once.’”

“And so you enlisted,” Lance finished.

Shiro nodded. “It blew up in my face. I figured I had my… fair share of imperfections after that shitshow.” He huffed a little, holding up the sleeve without a glove popping through. “And when I met Keith I figured… I could try for perfect again.”

They both fell silent, and Lance started to fidget in the cold. Shiro quietly suggested that Lance head back inside, and so he started for the door again. “Take this, though, and… text me if you need anything?” he said, holding out the baggie.

Lance looked at it once more, and after a split second of an internal war, he took it. “Thanks, but I don’t think I’ll need anything,” he said, and hurried back inside.

The moment he was behind the closed door, he locked it, and fell against it with a shuddering breath. His toes and fingers were absolutely numb, but inside he was boiling. He wished he could have said so much more before Shiro went and told him  _ that _ . 

_ Is it stupid of me to wish he just hadn’t said anything so I could keep yelling at him? _ he asked himself, but quickly shook his head as he hung up his jacket and tossed the baggie onto the countertop.

He looked at the door once more where, on the other side, Shiro was closing the gate behind him and dropping into the driver’s seat of his car. Lance returned to his room, and to where Keith woke to the sound. He nudged himself up, rubbing his hands over his eyes as Lance went to the bathroom and brushed his teeth, washed his face, et cetera. Keith dozed off again, so when Lance went to lie down, Keith was startled awake at the motion.

“Oh—sorry, passed out there for a second,” Keith said, preparing to climb out of the bed.

“You’re already lying here and the blankets are all warm—just sleep here,” Lance said, nestling between the sheets. “If you want, I mean.”

Lance’s back was to Keith, but he could feel the weight on the bed as if Keith was sitting on the edge of the mattress, debating. In the end, the comfort of the quilts pulled Keith under again. He settled in and glanced at the back of Lance’s head before turning to his side. As he hugged the blankets to his chest and twisted his knees up, sleep came back easily to him, and he didn’t spare another second worrying about a thing.

 


	14. { I just want you for my own }

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LIFE IS LOOKIN UP FOR OUR BOY KEITH. He's got our boy Lance wrapped around his finger, and on top of it, they get to sing sexy Christmas songs together at the club. What more could you ask for?

Keith woke up in a panic two nights in a row, and by then, they were back to work. He would wake up kicking, thrashing the blankets off of him, and he never bothered to lie there and wonder about what it was he dreamt to make him wake so violently, or why it sounded like someone was drilling something through the ceiling from the floor above them. Lance would sit up while Keith shoved himself out of the bed and to the bathroom. He was gone behind the door before Lance could get a look at his face and piece together whether or not Keith was okay.

While Lance waited for Keith to get ready for the day—shower, change, what-have-you—Lance started the day by making coffee. The moment he pulled the coffeemaker forward on the counter, though, he thought of Shiro, and what life must have been like when Keith was living with Shiro. Just based on the nights he spent with Shiro, Keith probably woke up as the snug little spoon, but Lance could see Keith fighting to be the big spoon, with one leg stretching to throw itself over Shiro’s hip.

Shiro was the early riser of the two. He’d unravel himself from Keith and the blankets, throw on a sweatshirt and pants, and quietly shut the bedroom door behind him so Keith could continue sleeping. The living room was likely bright and full of warm winter sunlight, and he’d probably stop in a patch of sun to warm his toes on the carpet, and stretch his arms up and back. 

Lance scooped coffee grounds into the filter around the same time Shiro would have disassembled a french press and started the kettle up. The kettle kick-started into a rumble after a few minutes, and Shiro divvied up the water between the coffee and his teapot. At this point, Keith was starting up the shower, and when he emerged, fresh coffee was waiting for him in the kitchen, and Shiro was on the couch sipping tea.

When Keith emerged from Lance’s bathroom, though, he was greeted with that incredible voice that saved the show Keith attempted to destroy for the sake of his ego. He hesitated at the bedroom threshold, hair turning cold against his neck when he left the bathroom’s hot steam. Lance’s voice carried on quietly through the kitchen, assisting in brightening Keith’s mood. 

“Sorry about crashing on your bed again.” Keith gathered the courage to say it, and break the music. 

Lance glanced behind him where Keith was wandering into the kitchen. His hair was brushed back after his shower, with small baby hairs framing his forehead. Lance looked away before he could say something stupid like, “Wow you’re perfect.”

“It’s no problem. It’s big enough for two people anyways.”

“I guess, but I mean… I have a spare mattress in the storage garage…” he started, hesitantly as Lance shut off the stove and pushed a stack of pancakes over the counter. 

“Oh,” Lance hummed, and decided there wasn’t any point in being passive-aggressive about this, especially when they were living together now. “Only if sleeping in my bed makes you uncomfortable, I guess. I seriously don’t mind—if it were up to me I’d be cuddling someone at all times of the day.”

Keith laughed, trying unsuccessfully to hide his smile. “Fine. I’ll just… stick to your bed then. But I do have furniture and shit we could bring over some time. I have a couch… a loveseat… a lazyboy…”

“You’re kidding. You have furniture and you didn’t  _ tell me? _ ” Lance squeaked, flailing his arms around. “ _ Dude! _ I don’t even have a bedframe and the only other piece of furniture I brought was that damn futon!”

“I guess this is you saying you want my furniture in here.”

“Fuck yeah! I don’t own a truck though…” he hummed, and together they brainstormed over how they could possibly transport everything. In the end, Lance shook his head dismissively, saying, “Nevermind that—here’s coffee, and I hope it doesn’t bother you if I practice a bit? I’m kind of off practice after everything…”

“Go ahead,” Keith insisted, and wondered just how eager he sounded. Truthfully, he didn’t think to consider whether or not living with Lance would mean hearing the guy sing. It was certainly a plus, especially with all of the Christmas songs he normally hated being translated into beautiful covers full of Lance’s zealous vocals. 

Lance had the emotion that Keith knew Lotor loved in Narti’s voice. He had the spark that made sarcasm cutting, innocence believable, and seduction either laughable or pleasurable. It was all solidified in Lance’s expressive eyes, and how he sashayed across the apartment pulling faces that sent Keith giggling in his chair. 

With the remainder of their morning, they listened to the soundtrack to their performance that night, and Lance sang to his heart’s content throughout all of it. They worked on cleaning house, and on the songs they both knew were duets for the both of them, Keith would dip Lance without hesitation or reservations about lying a hand on Lance’s soft, narrow hips. 

[They](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EPYiwVGQBik) spun together across the living room rug and when Lance danced behind him to the tune of, “ _ I’ve been an awful good boy… Santa baby—and hurry down the chimney tonight… _ !” Keith playfully pushed his hips back hard against Lance’s. He slid down Lance’s legs with his knees out, pulling on the invisible tie of Lance’s costume for that number.

Keith dropped to his knees, pivoted on one, and followed the gesture of Lance’s hands guiding him back up. That night, with the spotlight on them, Lance’s fingers drifted over the lace of Keith’s skimpy outfit, and down to his skirt. 

“ _ Think of all the fun I’ve missed… Think of all the fellas that I—haven’t kissed! _ ”

It was one of those silly performances the audience laughed at when Lance “accidentally” lifted Keith’s skirt, and Keith slapped Lance’s hand with that classic, “Oh Heavens!” expression when he looked over his shoulder at the audience. 

It was easy for everyone to see just how much fun they were having, and the audience was thrilled. The atmosphere was completely different from any other performance Shiro witnessed from the bar, and it all had a little something to do with Lance’s refreshing voice filling the club.

Just based on previous years, regulars had a soft spot for Allura’s Christmas numbers, and Keith was used to that. He barged in around the holidays, and so he wasn’t in the spotlight last year around this time. Christmas was never a holiday Keith loved, Shiro knew this, and so he was surprised to find Keith enjoying the music as much as he did. His performances were always different depending on whether the song was “his” or not. Hip hop tended to highlight that effect he had, and how passionate his dancing was during those numbers. 

When Keith danced with Lance’s voice filling the speakers, though… it was just like when he performed to his favorite songs. 

The aching in Shiro’s head sunk through each day he watched Lance and Keith on the stage together. It settled in his chest where he now realized was the exact location he began storing memories of Lance. Truthfully, everything that had to do with the heart in relation to love was bullshit, and Shiro wasn’t romantic enough to fall for it, but… Keith always said he was the one who supplied all the romance. If everything were up to Keith, they wouldn’t have gone on dates, seriously thought about living together, or left notes on each others’ pillows whenever they left early in the morning. 

With Lance, life was different. Life was better than what it had been without Keith. His chest ached wondering what Lance thought of him now. The last thing he wanted was for Lance to think he was a terrible person. He knew he had his flaws just like everyone else, and since coming back from overseas, he just couldn’t stop noticing them. Perhaps they were more prevalent now than ever, but it was getting in the way of his happiness more than he cared to admit. It wedged itself into his relationship with Keith, and now the same happened with Lance.

His brow tensed as he twisted a mixer in his hand and shook it fast. With one hand he drained the liquid through the strainer, holding back the ice on the margarita. He looked at the sound of the key change, and the lights dimming nearly to complete darkness. As he slid the drink to the waiting customer, he instinctively looked for Lance where the band was, and where the lights turned to him a moment later—dull, and doused in red in comparison to the bright white lights on Allura as she descended from the suspended platform. 

[Allura](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F726G9Fyx-Y) was wrapped in Christmas lights, and as Lance began singing, the expectations lifted. 

“ _ I don’t want a lot for Christmas… There is just one thing I need… _ ” Lance sang, voice rising slowly from where he lounged across the piano off stage. It was a melancholy mix—at the start, anyways, and his voice was weighed under a mixture of longing and desire rather than the upbeat song people were used to hearing on the radio.

Lance dragged his arms back, arching his back as he sang, “ _ I just want you for my own… More than you could ev-ver know… _ ”

At this, he dragged his head up, arms flowing behind him before stretching up to drift over his white gloves. He reached for the nearest patron, and began curving between tables, coasting from person to person as Allura’s solo came to an end.

“ _ All—I—want—for—Christmas—is… YOU! _ ” Lance sang, the final word emphasized by Hunk’s electric guitar breaking through the piano chords. 

The stage lights came on in a flash of red and white. They strobed over the dancers raising from the chairs that hid in the shadows until now. Lance strode for the bar that was left intentionally empty so that he could climb up with the assistance of one of the dancers. On the way up, in the break of two verses, Lance looked down the bar directly at Shiro. 

Shiro hadn’t realized that he was openly staring until then.

Ashamed, he turned away, and hurriedly went to one of the empty glasses on the bar and asked the customer if they would like more. Most everyone on the bar was distracted by Lance, though, and so all he got a vague wave in response. 

The dancers on stage leant back in their chairs and fanned their legs high, sequined heels glinting in the red spotlights. They were all decorated in frilly tutus that they flaunted, spinning in and turning into blurs of red and white. Lance’s voice raised in the climax, deliciously rough as he all but screamed, “ _ Santa won’t you bring me the one I really need—won’t you please bring my baby to me—! _ ”

It wasn’t often that Shiro felt jealous. He never felt the need  _ to _ be jealous, especially not with Keith—they had been close enough that doubt never creeped in, not even at the start when they were first getting to know each other. 

But now he was feeling an unexpected surge of something akin to it. He wasn’t jealous of Keith, or of anyone really. He had no way to categorize his irritation as anything other than that. He was jealous of how, at one point, he had a shot with Lance and he blew it. He was jealous of himself the day he helped Lance unpack his boxes. After everything, he was certain that it was impossible to go back to that, and the time he had a shot with someone as incredible as Lance McClain.

He didn’t regret it,—he couldn’t do that to himself or Keith. If he regretted it, it meant that Lance’s shot with Keith would have been slimmer than ever. 

_ You don’t have to date everyone that you love _ , he told himself as he poured yet another old fashioned together.  _ Even if Lance would accept you as a friend, it’d be better than what we are now. You don’t have to date him or fuck him or _ —

The instrumentals cut out, drawing Shiro’s attention up to where Lance was.

“ _ All I want for Christmas—is yo-ou bab-y! _ ” 

With that, Lance stomped his foot on the counter, the drummer who took Hunk’s place slammed on the cymbals, and Hunk struck a chord on his electric guitar. An applause went up, but Shiro could still hear Lance’s laughter over it. It was on the speakers, so crystal clear as he hollered, “All right! That was  _ awesome! _ ” 

Remembering that he had a mic on, he blushed and hurriedly scrambled off the counter. He winked at the woman at the bar staring at him, and caught Shiro’s eye in the process.

Shiro’s heart leapt and stopped in his throat. 

Lance blinked at him, and then glanced back at the stage before looking back at Shiro. After a moment of hesitation, his smiley energy dissolved into a withering glare. He turned on his stiletto heels and marched back to the stained glass archway, where he disappeared to head backstage for intermission.

 

. . .

 

Shiro used to take Keith out on dates during every free day they had. Mostly, though, they had morning dates to Keith’s favorite coffee shop where they’d sit and talk and smile at one another over a shared breakfast muffin and a donut or two. Keith wasn’t exactly one for elaborate dates, but Shiro didn’t bat an eye at spending money on Keith. That seemed to be the difference between them—Keith would forever be frugal, and Shiro would spend his money where it mattered. In Keith’s happiness.

Working at the burlesque club gave Shiro plenty of cushion for comfort, and it wasn’t unheard of for him to divvy up his money from rent, to utilities, to savings for his prosthetic, to groceries, and then to date nights. By the end of that, he had extra for coffee in the mornings with Keith. 

Back in the day, he had a knack for origami, and he still did, even if most of his cranes came out lopsided or squashed. He made cute origami notes for Keith after rough work nights when Keith didn’t want to leave bed, letting him know that Shiro was off to get a special something for breakfast.

Keith remembered how he’d twirl the crane around between two fingers, and fall back asleep until he heard Shiro’s key unlocking the front door. Keith loved those slow days. He always made his own schedule at the strip club, and considering how well he did the nights he worked, he freed up days in between on occasion. 

Shiro was a romantic, that much Keith knew. He was the sort of guy who was satisfied with spending the night snuggling and watching Netflix, and perhaps that was because they were both exhausted after work. Regardless, he never pushed, never pried, and was simply happy with Keith’s emotional and physical comfort. 

Keith wasn’t really a romantic, but he thought Shiro’s efforts were sweet. He didn’t mind them one bit considering he never had the pleasure of being pampered before. 

Lance pampered, but he pampered differently. Shiro had always been emotionally mature, and was only goofy and ridiculous when Keith was drunk because Keith couldn’t hold back his laughter then. Lance wasn’t mature by any means, and every minute with Lance made Keith feel tipsy—the good kind of tipsy. He was giggly more now than he had ever been before. Lance made him feel like a  _ real _ teenager, not the teenager Keith had been just a few years prior.

Backstage, Lance never changed, and would mingle around Keith’s mirror making faces until Coran dragged him away to get on stage and let Keith work. Keith would turn red and smiley whenever Ezor or Acxa mentioned anything to do with Lance. 

“I still can’t believe you’re living with him now,” Zethrid said off to the side as Keith hiked up the zipper on his tight sequin top. “Did he really just… like… offer to let you stay?”

“Yeah. I didn’t even ask him explicitly,” Keith said, and relaxed as he said it. “And honestly, his apartment might be a barren shithole, but it’s actually really nice. Like, he just needs more decorations and you might as well call it home.”

“Damn. That’s good,” she said. They all had experience in living in apartments. It was difficult to make them feel like home, especially when they were usually so limited when it came to what you could and couldn’t do to customize them. No painting the walls, no nail holes, no stains…

“We’re trying to figure out how to move my furniture from the storage garages,” he confessed, stretching his arms high above his head. He had red and green scrunchies on his wrists, and arced to the side to tickle her hair with them.

She shook her head and batted his hands away. “Fuck, I don’t know, man. I think Coran might know someone with a pickup…”

“Yeah, not asking Coran for help again,” he said, and watched as Coran hurried down the stairs nearby. Thankfully, the man didn’t hear a word. “But… I would like to get all that shit taken care of soon. Lance doesn’t seem bothered by it, but I’m already invading his privacy, you know?”

“Does that boy even  _ have _ a sense of privacy?” Zethrid countered, and truthfully, Keith didn’t know. He shrugged.

In terms of Lance’s privacy, Keith couldn’t find where the line was drawn, or if there even was one. From Keith’s perspective, Lance was chaotic—he left the bathroom door unlocked when he pissed or showered. The man even walked around  _ barefoot _ before the heating kicked in. Keith tried not to share a bed if he could help it, but sometimes his exhaustion tended to kick in when he least expected it. When they slept in the same bed, somewhere in the middle of the night, Lance would nestle him awake just to ask, “Can we cuddle?” and Keith would scoff something like, “Why the fuck do you need to ask… asshole…” but the cuddling never lasted long because Lance would get antsy, or Keith would get antsy, and they’d just end up sprawled across the bed together with the blankets tangled around their legs and arms. 

Lance was the most ridiculous school boy Keith ever met who had an ounce of guts to him. It was just enough guts to get him to ask Keith to live with him, and then to confess his feelings, but after that, Lance was weaker than weak. It drove Keith up the walls some days, when he was so sure Lance was getting ready to kiss him, or move his hand up from where it was resting on Keith’s knee during their routine movie nights.

Despite being childish most days, Lance’s shenanigans stimulated something that burned in the core of Keith’s chest where his feelings were starting to thaw. They didn’t have a car, and Lance ignored everything Keith said about winter-hand-holding.

“You’re literally sacrificing your own heat and my heat to fuckin’ hold hands in negative zero temperature,” Keith argued, but Lance tucked his nose behind his scarf, shaking his head defiantly. “ _ Lance _ , oh my God, just let me put my fuckin’ hand in my pocket.”

“No. I’ll keep it warm, I promise.”

“You’re such a damn liar,” Keith huffed, but went on smiling for the next block it took for them to arrive at Lance’s apartment door. 

At the door, while Lance would start fumbling with his keys, he’d start rambling about the night. He’d say things like, “Oh my God, Allura was a goddamn angel. You’re theory is totally right—she’s gotta be an angel or something because I felt blessed during her whole  _ Last Christmas _ routine.”

“You love every Ariana Grande track…”

“Oh my God, I love her,” Lance all but panted as he scrambled into the apartment, hooting and hollering, “So cold! So cold! Need! Blankets!” 

Keith closed the door and locked it once, unlocked it, and locked it again just to be safe. He tried the handle before being perfectly satisfied, and leant over to turn up the thermostat. Lance had already shed his coat and boots, and was grabbing a heavy wool sweater from his bedroom. He brought one for Keith—it wasn’t even Keith’s—and hurriedly shoved it on. Keith rolled his eyes, but couldn’t seem to stop smiling as he kicked off his heels and shrugged off his jacket. He tossed his duffle onto the floor beside the futon and collapsed onto the cushions with Lance beside him.

“I’m gonna hug you now—for warmth,” Lance said.

“For warmth,” Keith laughed, and grinned as Lance went so far as to wrap his legs around Keith’s waist, and his fuzzy sleeves around Keith’s neck and shoulders. They pulled a blanket around them, and settled in to coast through the coldsnap in the apartment before the heating kicked in.

“You were so good tonight too,” Lance said, sniffing a little as he pulled away to look at Keith. Keith turned to him, and their faces were so close that their noses touched.

“Yeah?” Keith laughed. “What makes you say that?”

“You’re always good,” he said, and Keith laughed harder. “But honestly, I just like it when you grind on me. You can grind on me any day.”

“Oh my God, Lance…”

“ _ Santa Baby  _ always kills me,” he insisted. “I’m surprised I don’t get a hardon in the middle of the performance.”

“ _ Lance _ ,” Keith gasped, hiding his face against Lance’s sweater as Lance went on giggling.

“And the Santa suit is so  _ tight _ god _ damn _ . There’s no way to hide it! Everything would just look like it was sealed in an airtight plastic baggie!” he cried, and Keith couldn’t stop laughing at the mental image Lance was giving him. 

Somewhere in the middle of their laughter, Keith blurted out, “Can I kiss you?” and he hadn’t meant to. He really hadn’t meant to say it, but it reflected everything he had wanted to do to Lance that entire week, and that Sunday Lance let him into his life. 

Lance was breathless, cheeks pink and wide, blue eyes showing just how thrilled he was by the question. He nodded wordlessly. Keith licked his lips and leaned in to seal the gap between them. 

Keith tightened his fingers around the waist of Lance’s heavy wool sweater, pulling in close and pressing his cold hands underneath, flattening them against Lance’s back. Lance gasped, laughing before Keith slipped his tongue into his mouth. They melted together on the futon when Keith pushed Lance back with his weight settling between Lance’s hips, between his lips, making absolute music with their tongues blending together. 

Their breaths turned hot and needy as Lance pulled back for air. His fingers clung to Keith’s hair, pulling it from the ponytail. Keith panted, leaning over him before diving in again to lay messy, open-mouthed kisses over Lance’s swollen lips. He ducked down to lick the soft skin beneath Lance’s jaw, and pressed his lips over the lump that formed in Lance’s throat before he swallowed.

“ _ Fuck _ , Keith…” he breathed, voice hoarse as Keith smiled against Lance’s throat and kissed his Adam’s apple. He pulled at the collar of Lance’s sweater and lifted up to marvel at Lance’s caramel-brown skin. He looked into Lance’s eyes then, and sensed the urgency in Lance’s grip tightening on his hair. 

As they kissed again, lazily, tiredly as the exhaustion of work began sinking over them. Still, Keith couldn’t help but tease a little—he was an expert at teasing, and he wondered if Shiro ever mentioned that to Lance before he rolled his hips into Lance’s, rubbing the bulge between his legs against Lance’s. 

_ I bet he’s heard Lance moan like this _ … he thought, grinning devilishly as Lance craned his head back with his teeth sinking into his lower lip. Keith rocked his hips forward again, lifting his knee up to bend Lance further, breaking his restraint with another needy kiss. 

He wondered, distantly, if he could taste Shiro on Lance’s lips.  _ A little too late for that excitement _ , he thought to himself as he relaxed his legs, and pulled back to sit up. The blanket slipped off of them.

He combed a hand through his hair and let out a shaky sigh, looking away and towards the kitchen. “ _ God _ , I’m tired. I could go for something to eat, though,” he said.

“Mhm,” Lance squeaked, arms dropping above his head as Keith pushed himself up and started for the kitchen. Lance stayed where he was, and didn’t recover until he heard Keith prying open a can of soup from the cabinet. 

 

. . .

 

_ Keith will have fun with Lance _ , Shiro reminded himself again when he found himself thinking of them. Seeing Pidge tended to do that now, but he was always grateful to see her. He smiled when he saw her and waved from the entrance to the gym.

“What’re you doing out in the cold?” Pidge demanded, and rolled her eyes when Shiro said, “Waiting for you.”

She muttered something under her breath and led the way in. She had her workout duffle slung around her shoulders, and pulled out her card at the entrance. They scanned their IDs and fetched locker keys to house their shit for the session. 

At the locker, Pidge pulled out the sleek white box Shiro was barely getting used to seeing. It felt impossible for him to believe that one day he’d get used to it. It was a miracle, and Shiro couldn’t cope with those. His life was a testament to that.

“Okay—so today we’re gonna try to do actual yoga—”

“We always  _ try _ to do yoga.”

“Well, it’s not like you can start bench pressing again with this thing,” she said, eyeing him sharply. He sighed. He really did miss bench pressing. “My hand, my rules,” she told him.

He raised his hand in surrender. “Fine, fine. You know better than me anyways.”

“Thanks, I know,” she said, snooty as ever as she led the way to the yoga room.

It was just like any other yoga room Shiro set foot in—white walls, mirrors, and light wood flooring. Pidge kicked a mat over to the middle of the room as Shiro shut the door and rolled his shoulders back. He stretched his arms out and arced them behind and forward until Pidge was ready for him.

He sat beside her and, when she handed him the device, he felt like he was carrying a newborn baby. He didn’t want to shove his weight on this newborn baby, but here he was, preparing to do so via yoga. He was terrified of crushing Pidge’s work, but she seemed confident, if not amused of Shiro’s hesitancies.

He tested the finger functions before pulling the sleeve on. The sleeve had been upgraded since the last time Shiro saw it at the bar, and Pidge noted his interest in it.

“They come in all different skin colors. I just sorta had to… eyeball it based on the video footage we have of you,” she said, scratching the back of her head with a small smile as Shiro laughed. 

“It’s pretty damn close—thanks, Pidge,” he said, and her ears turned pink.

She straightened her glasses as Shiro took the soft stickers from the box and stuck them behind his ears where his hair was shaved. He’d been cutting it closer lately to keep from ripping out hair during these sessions.

Pidge checked the stickers and gave Shiro the good-to-go. “You should be set. Try to move your fingers.”

It was agonizing trying to remember.

Not physically, or even emotionally, really. Shiro spent months trying to get himself out of the habits, trying to get rid of the phantom pains by just imaging he never once had a hand to move. It seemed he succeeded in tricking his mind that way, in some ways, but mostly… he forgot what it was like to have something there.

He lifted the hand up, staring at it as his brow tensed in concentration. He could see the muscles in his forearm writhing with the effort. The fingers curled awkwardly, twitching, and every time Shiro tried to move them, they jerked exaggeratedly in the general direction he wanted them.

“Okay, good. I’m no physical therapist, but… try not to think about it too much?” Pidge offered.

“Easier said than done,” Shiro laughed, lowering the hand to look at Pidge. “It’s like… I’ve forced myself to forget everything about moving this hand, so it feels like I’ve just never had one here. It’s the equivalent of scientists making an extra limb attached to the head, and trying to get someone to move it for the first time.”

Pidge sighed, and Shiro looked down, ashamed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like… that.”

“It’s fine,” she said. “It’ll be difficult to get used to, which is why physical therapy is recommended. But once you get it working, it  _ will _ be useful. Just trust me on this, Shiro.”

“I know. And I do,” he promised, and tried to move the fingers again.

It took thirty minutes of struggling for Pidge to finally say, “You’re tense. I told you to stop thinking.” 

He ran his hand through his hair, with all the sweat that felt  _ useless _ . This wasn’t supposed to be a workout, but it was quickly turning into one. “I  _ told you _ , I’m trying not to think about it—”

“Not about the hand,” she said, waving your hands. “Honestly, Shiro? The second I saw you I knew you were stressed. What’s up?”

He stared at his hands, and then looked up sharply to Pidge’s eyes. She looked away, swallowing hard. “I mean, I like to think we’re friends, Shiro. And I know it sounds weird, but ever since I got to college… all of my friends have been way older than me. I’m friends with all the researchers on the project, and they’ve got, like,  _ families _ and shit.”

Shiro scoffed a little, smiling. “That’s because you’re  _ mature _ , Pidge.”

“Aw, thanks,” she said, and they both laughed. “And, like, I know all the basics about you. And the weirder shit. Like… how you were gonna be like me before the military.”

“Like you?”

“You know what I mean,” she said. Shiro’s smile faded, and he watched her fondly as she fiddled with the tablet for the hand. She did know a lot more about him than he realized. They’d been seeing each other for this project for nearly three years now. She knew he had a full ride to the same school Lance’s brother was at before he enlisted. Pure coincidence.

“Yeah,” he said, “we are friends, I guess. How is it that we’ve never talked about that?”

“I don’t know,” she scoffed. “But seriously, I want to know what’s bothering you.”

He reached his fake hand up and used the stiff thumb to scratch at his stubble. “You… you  _ seriously _ don’t want to hear about it…”

“Try me. Is it about what Matt’s been bitching you out about? C’mon, I know he’s been bothering you,” she said, and Shiro gave her a flat look. “Ah, so I’m close. It’s about Keith?”

“No—well, sort of,” he said with a sigh. “ _ Everything’s _ about Keith, but… Lance knows now. He didn’t know Keith and I were a thing before.”

“Oh—”

“And now Keith is living with him,” he said. “And… I don’t know why, but Lance’s approval means so much to me. I didn’t want to admit it at the time, but he means a lot to me. I was afraid of getting close to him because… I don’t want to hurt him like I hurt Keith.”

“You didn’t hurt Keith…”

“I did. After…  _ all the shit _ that happened to him. I just… it can’t just be a coincidence, right? The only two times fucked up shit happened in my life was  _ this _ , and then the Sendak shit.” He lifted the hand up to her, and she watched him sorrowfully. Shiro scoffed, looking down again. “It’s like… nothing at all, or all at once. You know?”

“Yeah, I get that.”

Shiro worried his lip between his teeth before saying, quietly, “Can I just… say something real quick? And then we can forget about it?”

“Yeah, sure. No judgement, honestly,” she said, crossing her finger over her heart.

Shiro smiled at the gesture. “Thanks. I know you probably thought I was crazy, breaking up with Keith, like, a month after that happened to him,” he said, and continued even when Pidge opened her mouth to argue, “but honestly, at the time I didn’t see any way around it. We’d be working together, I was anxious that more shit would happen, and… I just… didn’t want to hold Keith down.”

“You’ve never held him down. Shiro—”

“I didn’t before,” he said sharply. “I didn’t hold him down  _ before _ Sendak happened. Afterwards, I could… I could tell Keith was nervous. About anything to do with… you know.” He couldn’t say it. Thinking about “Keith” and “sex” now made Shiro worry, more than he probably had a right to. “You weren’t there that first week, Pidge. Oh my God, I’ve never felt so helpless in my life, I can’t even imagine… Keith couldn’t remember anything from it, but it’s like… It’s like his body did, you know? He was suddenly so scared of everything—he was scared of  _ me _ for Chrissake.”

“So… you broke up with him so he wouldn’t have to worry?” she finished, and Shiro didn’t say anything. “Shiro, why are you beating yourself up over this?”

“Because—Because everyone thinks I’m fucked up for breaking up with him after that! They all think it’s because, like… my image of him changed because of that experience, which is  _ horseshit _ . Like I lost interest in him because suddenly he’s  _ been raped _ by a bunch of other guys all in one night,” he bit out through clenched teeth, tucking his hand against his cheek as he looked away. “I don’t even think Keith saw the break up like that even after I tried to explain it to him. The last thing he’s ever wanted to be is vulnerable, you know that.”

“Vulnerability just makes him pissed off,” she said, and Shiro nodded quietly to himself. “So… that explains why he was so angry going into Daibazaal.”

“I know. But… I think him being angry was a better alternative to constant anxiety over having to deal with me on a daily basis,” he said. “With Keith I just… I was never able to keep my hands to myself, and after Sendak, it was just overwhelming even a month in. Everything romantic just made him… pale, like he was about to be sick.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” she asked, and Shiro just shrugged. “You can’t hold the world on your shoulders, Shiro. I mean, you’ve only got one hand to do it.”

Surprisingly, Shiro laughed, and Pidge smiled. They laughed together as Shiro reached out to push her. It wasn’t until after that they realized that he fluidly used her mechanical hand to do it. 

They both stared at it. Shiro lifted it up again, and shoved his hand out to push Pidge’s shoulder again. The palm went out, the fingers went up, and…  _ push _ . 

“Well,” she said, tipping her nose in the air triumphantly, “I’d call this a success.”

Shiro brushed his own hand beneath his eyes with a laugh. “Thanks Pidge. Honestly, I’m glad I have you around.”

Her eyes softened, glistening a little as she pushed forward and threw her arms around his neck. They hugged over the yoga mat, and Shiro watched his mechanical white hand as he rubbed it up and down Pidge’s back like the action was nothing at all.

 


	15. { man in the mirror }

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance and Keith have a little fun messing with Shiro *wink wink nudge nudge*

Friday night and Saturday night were a breeze. Lance was floating on cloud nine and taking Keith with him.

After the kiss on Thursday, it was as if some barrier that had been between them just up and disappeared, and there was nothing stopping them now. Not even Shiro.

In fact, Shiro was a catalyst. The practice after their first kiss and after Keith had told Lance everything, Lance was all for Team Keith and making Shiro realize the biggest fucking mistake of his life.

They had just finished up the routine for  _ Last Christmas _ and Lance was dipping Keith low and staring at him with all the these-are-stage-feelings-not-actual-feelings he could muster when Shiro walked in. Lance didn’t miss the way Keith glanced at Shiro or the way his eyes darkened when they flicked back to Lance. 

“Do it—I dare you,” Keith said, and Lance’s sneer turned into a sinister grin.

Lance didn’t even miss a beat when Keith wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him closer. The final thing he noticed? It was the way Shiro paused—maybe even froze—but who cared about semantics when Shiro was watching them? Lance snickered and leaned in, instigating a make-out session that caused the others to hoot and holler.

“ _ Sexy! _ ” Ezor shrieked from behind them, and Acxa slapped her hand to her forehead. Keith pulled away with a laugh, swinging his arm around Lance’s shoulders and giving him a peck on the cheek. Lance beamed, completely shameless, especially when he caught a glimpse of Shiro. The instantly Shiro noticed him looking, though, he pried his eyes away, cheeks pink and brows furrowed. 

That one instance made the entire night so much fucking longer than it needed to be.

The passing glances.

The lingering looks.

The tantalizing touches, in sight of every patron in the club. Lance was certain Keith was torturing him every time his hand grazed his ass in the middle of a performance. 

There was even that stolen moment in the bathroom that lasted _ just _ long enough that Coran noticed Lance’s absence and went on a hunt for him. Thankfully, with the amount of noise Coran was making out in the hall, Keith and Lance were given time to leap away from each other and pretend to piss in the urinals. 

Coran stormed in then, yelling, “ _ Lance! _ You’re up in less than a minute!”

“Aye, aye, sir!” Lance squeaked, pretending to zip up the nonexistent fly on his costume before having his arm grabbed and dragged across the room.  

“Quit being a smartass and hurry up or I’ll—” While Coran spouted curses, kicking open the bathroom door, Lance winked at Keith, and Keith rolled his eyes.

The walk home was  _ agonizing _ . They kept bumping into each other, hands brushing, bashful smiles, witty comments that were dirtier than all get out. But the cold was worth the warm bed that they fell into each night, all tangled with each other, hands all over, the frame creaking.

Sex with Keith was something else, an entirely different animal compared to Shiro. It was hot, it was fast, it was intense and seering and any other word that you could associate with how Keith made love. Shiro was slow and all encompassing, making Lance melt into a puddle. Keith would light him on fire and put him out, and repeat the process over and over again. It didn’t matter the position they took, who topped or bottomed, but each time, it was something different and Lance was certain he had found a sex god. Two of them if you counted Shiro. 

But he was Team Keith and he was happy to settle for the sex god that wasn’t hung up on his ex.

 

. . .

 

_ Sunday _ .

Lance didn’t mind Sundays. It’d be the day he went back to his previous arrangement as a background dancer. Lotor had a few of those nights speckled across the board, but mostly his singing was constricted to Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays—every other day was up in the air. Lance was thrilled by the attention, up front and center stage, and Lotor was beside himself with joy at having a singer on the stage again. It was on all of the posters out on the streets, on the marquee sign below the neon _ DOWNTOWN DAIBAZAAL  _ sign that cast a red glow across the snowy road. 

A photographer came in that morning as per Lotor’s orders, and a spotlight was put on the stage for Lance. As soon as they… picked an  _ outfit _ , anyways. 

Lance tapped his foot impatiently as Lotor threw costumes at Coran. Lotor groaned in frustration when every one was vetoed. 

“Just  _ pick one _ dammit,” he hissed at Coran.

“The Santa outfit looked fine,” Lance said. “It’s festive.”

“This is for your poster out front,” Coran said. “Who knows how long it will be up there! We have to find the perfect one.”

“What about the sexy suit? The one with the black lace?” Lance suggested, but both Lotor and Coran ixnayed it. Lance rolled his head back with a sigh, and walked away to let them fight it out.

Since Lance came to the club early, Keith left the apartment early, and diverged a block away to get coffee before work. By the time Lance wandered out, still dressed in his sweats, Keith was there, perched up on one of the stools sipping coffee from his thermos. The lights were dim, and the photographer was up above with Rax turning colored lights on and off. Blue strobed over Lance for a moment as he hopped off the stage to walk up to Keith.

“How’s it feel being a celebrity,” Keith asked, hardly looking up from his phone. As Lance put his hands on Keith’s knees, Keith pulled them apart, and Lance slotted between them. 

He swallowed hard as he looked between them, to Keith’s toned legs around him, before his eyes traveled up past Keith’s crop top under the leather jacket. Keith was snickering at him, and he didn’t know it until his eyes returned to Keith’s. Lance rolled his eyes. 

“I bet I could take a guess at what you’re thinkin’ about,” Keith commented, leaning back, grin smug. 

“Of course I’m thinking about it,” Lance laughed, leaning in. Keith tipped his head back, teasing Lance with the distance. “You’re…  _ God _ , you’re just so perfect.”

Keith turned all shades of pink before stammering out, “How can you just  _ say _ shit like that? Fuck, Lance…” He pushed Lance away and moved to stand up, but not without hastily squeezing Lance’s hand in the process. Lance took Keith’s frustration as a good sign.

“You can say shit like that too!” Lance teased as Keith walked off. 

“Fuck off!”

“There it is!” he laughed, and that time, Keith flipped him off. Lance threw his head back laughing and swung back to the stage. Coran was yelling his name, so he hopped up and hurried behind the curtains to change into the outfit for the photograph.

Lance emerged on stage in a flourish, arms out for the photographer. He could see Lotor rolling his eyes at his table, but he went along with Lance’s shenanigans as he picked through the props they provided. He went for the microphone first after Coran’s excessive prodding.

Keith wandered in from the side as Lance was fake-singing and the camera was going off. “ _ Boo! _ ” he shouted, giving Lance a thumbs-down. 

“Stop pestering him! He gets distracted easily,” Coran said.

“Hey!” Lance squeaked, dropping the mic down to his lap.

“See? What’d I tell ya!” he cried. 

Lance gave him a flat look. “I’m  _ trying! _ You come up here and pose for an hour.”

“It hasn’t even been an hour,” Lotor scoffed. “Sing  _ Somebody To Love _ for this one.”

“Oh! Yes, I agree,” Coran said. “Skip to the chorus.”

“You don’t just  _ skip to the chorus _ for a song like that!” Lance whined, but went along with it. It was like that night the music cut out again, and as he belted out the long, drawn out lyrics of the climax, he stomped his foot with a sense of finality, and looked to the photographer, who failed to take a single shot out of pure shock. 

“Ah! I’m sorry!” she cried. “Do that again!” 

Lance groaned, but complied, and so the photoshoot consisted of Lance screaming like Freddie Mercury on stage. It was a Sunday, so he didn’t have to worry about going hoarse for the performance. They had pictures of Lance wrapped up in the stage curtains, sexily draped against them in the lingerie Coran and Lotor picked out. They had pictures of Lance on a stool, head back, microphone to his lips with long, white gloves on his dark brown skin. In the end, the photographer left with plenty to work for, and an enthusiastic Lotor at the prospect of getting more advertisement out about their newest showpiece. 

Lance beamed from the stool as Lotor jumped up and cried, “That was perfect! Oh, God, this is going to be great! Lance—!”

“Yes?” he said.

“Come with me—I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something,” he said, tugging Lance along to backstage, and up the stairs to get to his office. 

Keith stayed where he was, content with waiting for the other dancers to show up. Soon, he was graced with Allura twirling in from the back, singing something incoherent under her breath as she danced across his vision and came to a stop at the seat opposite him. She claimed it, and dropped her purse on the table.

“Back to center stage tonight,” she commented, and Keith huffed under his breath. “Thought you might be excited about that.”

“I am,” he muttered, but it didn’t make him  _ sound _ excited. “I just… duets might be more fun than expected.”

“You mean… with Lance, that is,” she corrected, and Keith scowled at her. She laughed, waving a hand flippantly. “Oh, you know. I don’t mind him too much. I still think Ulaz is a better partner than Lance is, but that’s just because the boy’s inexperienced.”

“Inexperienced or not, he’s picked up the skill pretty quick,” Keith said.

“I take it you’ve loosened up since living with him.” It was an offhanded comment, like she didn’t care all that much  _ what _ Keith was starting to think of Lance. “All I’m saying is that I’m hoping Lotor sticks to his word.”

“About what?”

“Keeping our pay the same as before,” she said. “I’ve been here for ages—I don’t think he’d change just because I’ve no longer got half the show. My car wouldn’t start this morning so I have to pay to get it fixed. You wouldn’t believe the cost, my  _ God! _ ” She hooted sarcastically, and grinned at Keith.

Keith blinked at her. He hadn’t realized that there might be a price to Lance taking the spotlight. He always had extra money lying around after every paycheck, and he never spent it, so he hoped whatever cut he might get would provide for paying half of Lance’s rent and more.

“Are you doing okay though?” 

Her question startled Keith, and after the initial confusion, she clarified, “I’m just wondering with… I mean, someone broke into your  _ apartment _ . How scary is that? I hope you’re doing okay, and if you need anything?”

He wondered briefly how differently this all would have went if he got over himself and asked Allura for a place to stay.

“Oh. No, I’m fine, honestly,” he promised, offering a reassuring smile so they could just move on from the topic. He hated answer questions about the break in. He knew more than he led on. He turned the conversation over to her life, and she was eager to confess that she found a love for knitting, of all things. She reached to her duffle and started pulling out a scarf, but it just kept going and going and soon Keith’s lap was filled with the colors of the rainbow. 

Zethrid showed up with Acxa and Ezor then, and zealously swept the scarf around her neck, and then around Acxa’s, and Ezor’s. The tail end of the scarf landed in Keith’s lap once more. The band was setting up shop in the corner, and the instant Lance bolted out from the curtains, he flung himself at Hunk, who caught him out of fear for his life if he happened to drop Lance and break his ankle. Lotor would have a fit. Keith watched out of the corner of his eye as Lance giggled and dropped to his feet, asking about Hunk’s day, and if Lotor had given him anything new to work with.

The evening came fast, and with it came the customers dressed in their Sunday best. It wasn’t exactly church, though, and so when Lance would peer between the curtains during the starting acts, he’d marvel at the women’s low-cut dresses and the men’s fashionable suits topped with expensive, shined shoes.

Since joining the team as Lotor’s star pupil, Lance spent the start of the show being pulled away from the curtains by the hand, and out to the hall colored by the stain glass windows blocking the club from view. Lotor pulled him a long, saying, “I’ve got a few patrons who would like to meet you.”

“Oh? What for?” Lance said, giggling a little as they wove between tables. Thankfully, he was wearing a costume with actual tights and something to cover his nipples, so he didn’t feel quite as exposed as Lotor introduced him to a handsome older man—an artist friend from when Lotor attended art school briefly as a teenager. 

“I didn’t last long,” he confessed.

“He was an incredible painter, though! Do you have any of your work on you? Any pictures?” the man asked, and Lotor waved his hands, insisted that he didn’t. “Shame.”

“You never said anything about  _ painting _ ,” Lance teased. Lotor rolled his eyes, and the group laughed as Lance smiled cheekily and moved onto the next lady sitting beside the artist.

She was dressed in a gaudy fur shall and had her heavy black hair pinned back from her face. She had a familiar complexion that had Lance’s tongue going numb just trying to say the name. Thankfully, though, Lotor was there to introduce them. “Lance, this is Cher.”

Lance must have blacked out, and later, Ezor would tell him that he went white as a sheet and the moment was brilliant. He blurted out everything he would have wanted to say to an idol in the span of thirty seconds in the exact way a kid with stage fright wouldn’t. In the end, though, Cher sat back and the words couldn’t be heard from where Ezor and Acxa were watching from the archway. Lotor pulled Lance away after that, because he started hyperventilating. He came backstage in a daze, squeaking, “You know  _ Cher?! _ ” over and over again until Lotor forced him to his mirror and sat him at the stool there. 

“Just take a breather.”

“But I want to talk to Cher!”

“No you don’t, you want to drink this water, and you want to get ready for your next number,” Lotor said, shoving a water bottle into his hand and walking off. 

Afterwards, his position was replaced by Ezor storming up, screaming, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell her that her twitter is an inspiration!”

“I didn’t  _ what? _ ” Lance said, coughing up water. He put the back of his hand to his mouth as Ezor went on and on about how insane that entire experience was. It was like Adam reaching for God. It was astounding, and Ezor was convinced that a fraction of Cher’s talent was likely passed down in the process.

Lance laughed at the thought. Ezor dragged him out of his seat, twirling him back to the stairs where they ran to prepare for the number they were both in. They hurried to line up behind the curtain with the others, and Lance caught Keith’s eye from across the stage. He winked and held up two finger-guns, and Keith slapped his hand over his face. Ezor went, “Aw! You two are precious,” under her breath and earned an elbow to the ribcage for it from Acxa. 

They were both grinning as previous number ended, and the dancers hurried off the stage and were swiftly replaced by the rest of them. Lance tried to put his game face on, but he couldn’t stop smiling, not when Keith was up there on the steps catching the attention of everyone in the crowd. He was wearing a Michael Jackson hat, topped with tall white stockings and black shoes, and if it weren’t for the fact that the routine was committed to muscle-memory, Lance would have spent the entire performance staring at Keith’s pert ass in that tight black unitard. 

Keith’s legs crossed and he turned with the sound of the music coaxing him lower to the stage. When he jumped up and forward, Thace and Ulaz caught him, gliding him down from the platform to the front for a uniform number where they all tipped their hats and struck a pose from there. The lights were flaring across the stage, and the ones up above, beyond the curtains, fanned out over the crowd in the exact moment Keith looked up and saw the faces of everyone watching him.

His eyes landed on the man sitting alone at a table in the very middle of the club. 

Just for Keith to see.

Keith never had stage fright, not like this. 

He never seized up and let himself be rammed into by Thace as everyone else continued with the number without him. Thace stopped, though, catching Keith by the arm. Their footsteps stumbled on the wood, and the music kept going, even as Shiro looked up from the drink he was pouring to see what the disturbance was.

Keith was frozen in the middle of the stage, and Shiro only saw that look of horror once before. He abandoned the drink and hurried to the side of the bar, searching the crowd just as Keith got ahold of himself long enough to bolt off the stage and behind the curtain. All of the dancers looked after him in confusion—Thace seemed to be the only one doing anything as he pointed to the guards at the entrance. 

A man sitting alone at a table stood, catching Shiro’s eye.

He recognized the haircut from the one time he visited Keith’s strip club—strip clubs weren’t really his thing, but Keith insisted, and the two of them had a lot of fun at the time until Sendak came and requested a lap dance. It was the one time Shiro saw him, and now it was impossible for him to forget.

Shiro stormed between the tables, and grabbed the man by the back of his jacket. The patrons around him gasped as he turned the man around, slammed his arm into Sendak’s chest, and pinned him against the table. He cranked his fist back and nailed him in the nose as hard as he could. Blood spattered on the floor, and the nearest couple jumped up from their seats to avoid the chaos. 

“Shiro! Shiro, what are you doing?!” Lotor shouted, and just then the guards started prying him away. 

“I told you to put this fucker on the blacklist!” Shiro screamed, shaking the guards off to jab a finger at Sendak, who was dabbing at his broken nose with a handkerchief. 

Lotor hurried over, and clasped a hand over his mouth. He realized the situation. 

He turned to the guards. “Get this man out of my sight. Bring the host to me at once—no one comes in until I’m done speaking with him,” he hissed at them, voice cold. The guards nodded and took Sendak by the arms. Shiro was shaking so terribly from the raw anger boiling in his chest. He glared at Sendak as the guards dragged him off. Sendak kept his eye contact until he was out of sight. 

Shiro slammed the chair back into its place and stormed off. He walked straight past the bar and through the archway to get backstage. 

Lotor snapped his fingers at the dancers, shouting, “Everyone—backstage! We’ll be taking an early intermission. My sincere apologies for the… violent entertainment.” 

A few people chuckled at that, but Lance couldn’t see straight, not when he just watched Shiro clobber a guy and be rewarded for it by Lotor. He turned away as the curtain started to fall, and hurried after the other dancers asking where Keith went.

Lance could hear someone sobbing up the stairs, and just as he reached the stairs, he could’ve sworn he heard Keith’s voice, broken from tears, crying, “Where’s Shiro? I need to talk to Shiro!” The backstage door slammed open, and Lance looked just as Shiro bolted in. It was weird just seeing the bar staff back here, and so everyone halted in their spots as Shiro sprinted up the stairs after everyone pointed to them, knowing that was where Keith was. “Thank you,” was all he said, out of breath. Lance’s eyes followed him up, and then he looked back at everyone else for answers.

“What the fuck just happened?” he said.

Lotor entered through the backstage door more calmly, and gently closed it behind him. “Keith’s done for tonight—I don’t want him on stage after that. Where’s Allura?” he shouted.

“Here!” she called out from the costume room.

“You’re on in ten minutes. We’re going ahead with the second half performance with fillers in between with the gymnasts—got it?” he ordered, and everyone nodded except for Lance.

“Was that actually…?” Ezor started from the side, and Lotor gave her a sharp look that told her to keep her mouth shut. They could still hear Keith sobbing upstairs before it was cut short by Lotor’s office doors closing behind him.

“It was,” Lotor said. “And we aren’t going to talk about it for Keith’s sake. I’ll have guards escort you all to your cars after hours tonight. Please carpool if you don’t have a car. We’ll figure that all out later—I’m willing to drive people if need be.”

This seemed to bring a sense of relief through the room. Lance stared at them all in confusion, but everyone was splitting up and getting ready for the second act. By that point, the host was brought in from the front, and Lotor escorted him to the backroom. Alone once more, Lance took the opportunity to sprint up the stairs and find Keith. He went to Lotor’s office, and hesitated at the door handle. He looked behind him, and found nearly everyone on that floor staring at him. They all looked away when he caught their stares, and so he turned and knocked on the door before entering. 

Keith’s sobs were reduced to sniffles by the time Lance passed the threshold and closed the door as quietly as possible. He couldn’t even imagine the sort of expression that was on his face when Shiro glanced at him from over Keith’s head. Shiro looked like he was in agony, and Lance couldn’t find it in him to be an asshole to the guy, not when Shiro was the reason why Keith was calming down, if only a little. 

“Keith,” Shiro said softly, and the tenderness of his voice sent a shudder down Lance’s spine. “Keith, Lance is here.”

Keith sniffed, and pulled away to rub his hands over his eyes. “Can you get me some clothes?” he asked Shiro, who nodded and stepped aside. “My duffle’s by my mirror…”

“I’ll find it,” Shiro promised, and walked off towards the door. Lance stepped aside, his eyes dropping to Shiro’s bloody knuckles before the man disappeared behind the door.

Keith stood up, rubbing a hand over his eyes to block Lance’s view of him. He may have cried in front of Lance before, but this was… this was different. This was  _ public _ , and if he couldn’t even control himself in public, what could Lance expect of him now? The last thing he wanted was to tarnish Lance’s view of him, however “clean” it was now. The fact that Keith was out of a place to stay had to have  _ some _ impact on Lance, right? 

Perhaps he thought he was a degenerate idiot, incapable of living a steady life. Incapable of being  _ normal _ , and not riddled with  _ drama _ .

Lance walked across the quiet room to meet Keith, who moved over to the corner of the room where Lotor kept a Kleenex box. Keith grabbed a handful of tissues and started blotting at his make-up and blowing his nose. Lance took the dirtied ones and tossed them in the bin. 

“Do you… want to tell me what’s up?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at Keith from across the room.

A shudder went through Keith, and it seemed to take all the energy out of him. He sat on the couch Lance sat on a month before, stitching up the casualties of dancers doing the splits too many times. 

“I don’t… I don’t think I can talk about it with you. I’m sorry,” Keith said, voice wavering near the end.

“Oh. Well, that’s fine. We don’t have to talk about it,” Lance said, but he couldn’t help but feel a little snubbed by the fact that Keith could talk about it with Shiro and not him. He walked over to sit beside him, and let Keith rest his head on Lance’s shoulder until Shiro came back with clothes. 

“Lotor’s taken my spot at the bar,” Shiro said with a laugh, holding the duffle out to Keith. Keith took it, and Lance looked between them as a moment of understand seemed to pass between them. “I could take a break and drive you back to Lance’s place.”

Keith shook his head quickly, putting a hand over his eyes. “I don’t—I don’t want to be alone. After—After that apartment break-in, I just… I’m worried it’ll happen again but it’ll just be me—”

“Apartment break-in?” Shiro repeated, narrowing his eyes as he took the open seat on Keith’s other side. 

“Someone broke into Keith’s apartment. It’s why he’s staying at my place,” Lance reiterated.

“It was Sendak,” Keith said, throat constricting. It took a moment for him to catch his breath and say, “He broke into my apartment. He went through  _ everything _ and l-left a… a  _ picture— _ ”

Shiro visibly bristled, face red as he seethed, “He broke into your apartment and you didn’t  _ tell me _ ? Keith!”

“I’m sorry!” he sobbed, throwing his hands down in frustration. “What was I supposed to do?! I panicked!”

“Was the picture from that night?” he demanded, and Keith folded in on himself, pale as snow. Shiro leant back in the couch with his hands over his face. “They took pictures. Oh my God.”

“I  _ know _ ,” Keith gasped. “I’m so fucking  _ done  _ with this  _ shit _ ! Why’d he have to come back?  _ Why?! _ ”

Keith tipped away from Lance, and leant into Shiro where he could rub his tears away on Shiro’s button-up shirt. Lance stared at them, and then at the floor before pushing himself to his feet. He tried his best not to act like a jealous school girl who has all the secrets kept from her. “I should probably get back to work. Let me know if you… need anything.”

Keith didn’t seem to hear him, but Shiro looked up at him. “Thank you, Lance. Sorry about all this,” he said. Lance offered a tight smile and walked off.

 

. . .

 

Lance didn’t expect Lotor to be serious about the carpooling, and since Keith was pinned to Shiro’s side, Shiro wound up driving them back to Lance’s apartment. Lance was stuck in the backseat like a third wheel, and Keith played DJ—they only had one song to choose, because the drive wasn’t all that far, and so Keith settled on Beyoncé. 

Lance swore he was trying to bribe Lance not to be mad at him. 

It was a conflicting feeling. As soon as Lance started to feel betrayed by Keith’s surety that he would never go back to Shiro, he felt guilty for doing so. Clearly something happened with the guy in the club that Shiro punched, and suddenly now Shiro was the only guy to help deal with it? Lance called bullshit, but then again, he wasn’t there. This was unfamiliar territory, and he hoped for both his sake and Keith’s sake that things would go back to normal soon.

They didn’t, though.

As they pulled up in front of Lance’s apartment, Keith stood leaning over the open car door talking to Shiro long after Lance had unlocked the door. They were still prattling away, and so Lance called out sarcastically, “Why don’t you just  _ invite him in _ .”

Shiro wound up in the kitchen with them. 

Lance tried not to glare, he really did, but when Keith left to shower, he couldn’t help it. He sat across the counter from Shiro as a frozen pizza cooked away in the oven. Shiro busied himself with cleaning a few of Lance’s dishes before he quietly said, “I know you’re probably irritated with me.”

“Uh, yeah, you think?” Lance said.

“I’ll only stay if Keith wants me to, I promise,” Shiro insisted, and Lance scoffed, looking away. “That’s what you’re worried about, isn’t it? Lance, we aren’t getting back together over this.”

“Yeah, well, what  _ are _ you doing? It looks a lot like you’re taking advantage of his vulnerability,” Lance accused, and a tense silence followed. He crossed a line, and he didn’t know it until he met Shiro’s sharp glare. 

“I never pegged you as an inconsiderate asshole,” Shiro hissed, throwing the towel down on the counter and storming off. He didn’t exactly have anywhere to go, though. It was either hole up in  _ Lance’s _ bedroom, or leave the apartment altogether. He wound up facing the window, his hand in his hair. He was too angry to speak for a moment before turning on Lance and saying, “This isn’t something I should talk about with you. This is about  _ Keith _ , not me, and I care about him too much to do something like that! Take advantage of him? Lance, oh my God, you have no idea!”

“Who was that guy, though? You completely broke his fucking nose!” Lance cried out, thrashing his arms around. “What the hell was that?!”

Shiro scowled at him before tearing his gaze away to think. 

Eventually he turned back and said, “Remember when I asked you what Keith said? About why we broke up. You said something happened at Keith’s workplace—that  _ shithead _ was responsible for it, and I wish I could have done worse than just break his fucking nose, alright?”

Lance stared at him before putting a hand over his face with a groan. He turned away, lifting his knees up so he could hug them to his chest. He thought about Keith’s old workplace, and with the number of things that came up involving strip clubs, a few awfully colorful scenarios popped up. He didn’t want to think about any of them, but assumed that one of them must have been true to warrant a response like that from Shiro.

Lance tucked his chin against his knees, and then pressed his nose to them, hiding behind the fabric of his pajama bottoms as Shiro paced the living room before walking up to the counter. He moved to stand in front of Lance, and leant over to catch Lance’s eye. Lance grudgingly looked over at him.

“In all honesty, Lance, this is your apartment. If you don’t want me here, I will leave right now.”

Lance knew what he was suggesting, and Shiro likely knew his fears. He feared that if he pushed Shiro away now—now that Shiro was a pillar of support for Keith to lean on—Keith would follow. He’d leave Lance’s apartment to live with Shiro again, and Lance would have to watch from afar as Keith forgot about him. He’d have to watch the two  _ hottest _ guys he was ever close to as they dated and flaunted their happiness in his face.

And he’d be alone in the apartment again.

“No, you can stay,” Lance whispered, mostly to himself. Thankfully, though, Shiro heard. He straightened up, and gave Lance an uncertain glance before moving away.

They were saved by Keith emerging from the shower a minute later, looking strung-out, but still together (and cleaner than before). He scrubbed a towel over his head as he stepped through the living room to rifle through his duffle. After retrieving his phone, he walked over to where Shiro was standing near the futon, peeking behind the tapestry to look out at the street. 

They murmured quietly to one another as Lance claimed the bathroom. After a long shower, he emerged to a quiet apartment, and a pizza sitting out with two missing pieces. 

Paranoia seized him, and he hurriedly looked through the living room for Keith. No one was there, and it took a moment for him to realize that Keith was bundled up on the futon alone. 

“Is Shiro gone?” Lance asked in a whisper.

Keith looked up, face glowing blue from the light on his phone. “Yeah. Yeah, he’s gone.”

They both fell silent, but Keith continued to watch Lance as he debated what to do. He’d spent last night in absolute bliss with Keith and now he was stuck on the outside of the drama.

“Was it awkward?” Keith asked. “With Shiro? He wouldn’t tell me.”

Lance sighed, turning his eyes away as he admitted, “Yeah. I mean, of  _ course _ it was awkward!  _ God _ , I felt like an idiot. Since when were we supposed to be buddy-buddy with him? What happened to the whole ‘payback’ thing, or was that just bullshit?”

“C’mon, it was never like that,” Keith scoffed. “We were just having fun!”

“So last night was us ‘just having fun,’” Lance said, and Keith bolted upright at the accusation. Lance felt guilt seep into his expression as he turned away, crossing his arms. “Because it wasn’t just about fun for me. I  _ really _ care about you, Keith, and it hurts when you depend on your  _ ex _ more than you do me. And I’m blowing this out of proportions, I know, but I can’t help it!”

“The kind of shit Shiro and I went through is completely separate from us!” Keith said. “The last thing I want to do is put that on you, too. Because I sure as fuck know it ruined my chances with Shiro. I don’t want to ruin my chances with you.”

Lance put a hand to his face, trying to push back the comforting warmth Keith’s reassurance gave him. He wanted to stay angry, but he couldn’t, not with the way Keith looked at him. The desperation for Lance’s acceptance of all of this. 

“Then come to bed? My bed?” Lance asked quietly, hopefully.

Keith shrunk against the cushion, looking down at his lap. “I don’t think I can sleep with anyone tonight. It’s not about you, Lance, I promise.”

Lance nodded, and hoped he didn’t look as uncertain as he felt. He wandered back to his bed as Keith nestled back into his blankets on the futon, and tried not to let the thought of Sendak swallow his mind into another black hole of despair.

 

. . . 

 

With the holidays fast approaching, Shiro found himself decorating his apartment for no reason other than to feel like everyone else on his apartment floor. Christmas was the only holiday his parents insisted on celebrating for the sake of getting Shiro out of his apartment and back home for a weekend or two. They called him a workaholic, and had been calling him one ever since he met Lotor in a bar and was offered a job at Daibazaal. 

He wasn’t sure what he’d be doing now had Lotor not saw the best in Chicago’s less-desirables. He paid for Shiro’s bartender course and license on the promise that Shiro would pay him back in the long run—which he did, within the same week he started work. It took months, but with all the work to occupy his thoughts—from bartending to choreography—he didn’t find much time to drink, and would cripple with guilt whenever he  _ did _ drink with witnesses around. The dancers called him a hardass, but he was honestly just an irritable prick at the time from trying and failing, trying again and succeeding at cutting alcohol from his diet.

He’d be lying if he said he never drank on the job at the start. Tipsy Shiro was hardly different from Normal Shiro after dropping alcohol, and it made life a little more tolerable at the time. Perhaps that was just Shiro’s excuses, though, for wanting to drink constantly. It was a shitty excuse for his physical health, though, which went haywire without the strict regimen he used to have in the service.

Regardless, he wound up visiting his parents every year. By now, his brother would be in high school. He and Ryou were never really close, mostly because Shiro was never around much—from school to enlisting to moving out and working full-time at Downtown Daibazaal… he just never made time for it. He had his suspicions that his parents liked parenting  _ alone _ , without him butting in, so he let them be and they were fine with their two separate lives—parents to Ryou first, and then parents to Shiro. Because unlike Ryou, Shiro was an adult.

Ryou was getting close to it, though.

Shiro kept his phone on the day following Sendak’s abrupt appearance at Downtown Daibazaal. He’d gotten used to leaving it elsewhere—on the counter, the coffee table, away from wherever he happened to be in his apartment—but now he kept it on hand at all times, tucked in his pocket. Subconsciously, he checked it again and again, waiting for a reassuring text from Keith letting him know that everything would be fine.

Shiro knew that Keith was a late sleeper, and so Keith wasn’t awake to send a message at eight in the morning. He was, however, awake every hour before then in brief segments when sleep refused to stick, and he refused to stick to the horrific dreams. 

At nine in the morning, Keith sat up on the futon and scrubbed his hands over his face. He lifted his phone up and opened it, and scrolled through all the messages through the night from Ezor and Zethrid, and even Allura. He stopped again at a message from Lotor.

“ _ I just wanted to apologize for last night. I have no excuses—I should have recognized him and kicked him out sooner. He shouldn’t have even been allowed in the dining area in the first place. I promise to hire more security by Wednesday. Feel free to take extra days off if you need to _ .”

He scrolled to the bottom of his message list, and laid back with an unsatisfactory groan. He forgot that he blocked Shiro, and therefore hadn’t saved any messages. He stared at the end of his message list for another five minutes—going between that and staring at Lance’s ceiling—before going to his phone settings to unblock Shiro’s number.

_ I might regret this _ , he thought, and opened a blank message that was soon to be filled and sent to Shiro.

 

**Keith:** _ Hey Shiro, it’s Keith _

_ I just wanted to thank you for… not being a dick. I know I wasn’t exactly rational at any point around this time last year. So you didn’t have to do that, but you did and I guess I just wanted to say… _

_ Thank you _

  
  


Keith pinched his thumbnail between his teeth worriedly, heart beating rapidly at the thought of talking to Shiro again. All of those teenage feelings Lance gave him surged back, recklessly hoping to reconcile whatever happened between him and Shiro.

He hated to admit it most days, but he missed everything about Shiro.  
  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Mogi and Sarah wanted the scene to go a little something like this:_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Shiro would recognize that man’s haircut anywhere.
> 
> “This bitch,” he seethed under his breath, storming down the bar as he grabbed the front of his shirt by the buttons, and ripped it clean off. The light from the stage glinted off of his RIPPLING BICEPS, blinding the patrons sitting at the bar as he planted his hand on the counter, and thrust himself up. He swung his legs over the bartop and vaulted over.
> 
> The man sitting alone at the table turned, and the camera froze, panning in on his gross, unattractive SIDEBURNS. They cut straight through into Thursday, and by Thursday I mean THE CORNERS OF HIS MOUTH.
> 
> “Sendak,” Shiro sneered as he landed on one of the patron’s tables. He crushed a wine glass under his sicknasty, steel-toed boots. The camera panned back to The Sideburns Guy. A banner slapped across the bottom of the screen, and the name “SENDAK” was written out in cold blood, in Japanese.
> 
> In the background, Lance stood on stage, and the camera turned to him and zoomed in.
> 
> “Wait, you know this guy?” Lance squeaked. A banner slapped onto the bottom of the screen, and it read “LANCE” in cold blood, in Japanese.
> 
> Sendak pushed himself out of his seat, scoffing. “Boy does he know me,” he said. “Don’t you, Shiro?”
> 
> Shiro reached behind him, and unsheathed a sword forged out of blue flames. The club lit up under it like a fucking disco ball as he swung it over his head, and landed it sharply in Sendak’s direction with a ferocious jab.
> 
> A banner slapped across the bottom of the screen, and it read, “TAKASHI SHIROGANE” in cold blood, in Japanese.
> 
> “You’re going to pay for your crimes against humanity!” Shiro cried, the disco ball lights glinting against the oil on his impeccable pecs.
> 
> “How quaint, you’ve even got yourself a cute little sword,” Sendak cooed, and from his pocket he summoned a bladed whip. He struck it through the air, and it sent the patrons running away, screaming at the tops of their lungs. “Let’s dance, pretty boy.”
> 
> Shiro’s brow twitched. “I don’t need your arrogant ass telling me what to do. Prepare to have that ass sliced and served on a plastic platter, BECAUSE IT DOESN’T DESERVE A SILVER ONE, YOU PERVERTED SLUT!”
> 
> Shiro lunged with a roar, and Sendak vaulted off of his chair with a shout, swinging his whip through the air before striking out at the flames of Shiro’s sword.


	16. { destiny is overrated }

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sarah, sobbing in the crowd waving her camera flashlight: "DES-TINY IS OVER-RATED—SO I THINK—I'LL WRITE MY OWN !! I DON'T BE-LIEVE IT'S COMPLICATED SO I THINK I'LL STAY AT HOME."

****

**Keith:** __ Hey Shiro, it’s Keith  
_ I just wanted to thank you for… not being a dick. I know I wasn’t exactly rational at any point around this time last year. So you didn’t have to do that, but you did and I guess I just wanted to say…  
_ __ Thank you

**Shiro:** _ You had every right to be irrational. I would have punched the guy regardless of whether or not your irrationality changed my view of you _

**Keith:** _ And did it?  
_ _ Change your view of me _

**Shiro:** _ Of course it didn’t  
_ _ You’ve always sorta been hotheaded. I liked that about you. _

**Keith:** _ Emphasis on “liked” _

**Shiro:** _ You know what I mean.  
_ _ Do you want me to be honest? _

**Keith:** _ Yeah _

**Shiro:** _ Then I’d say I’m still not over you.   
_ _ You know I wanted to give you time _

**Keith:** _ I know and I get that, but I’m not a child, Shiro _

**Shiro:** _ I know you aren’t, but I know you wouldn’t have told me how uncomfortable you were with being in a relationship after Sendak happened _

**Keith:** _ :T _

**Shiro:** _ Is that you agreeing with me, or just being angry _ .

**Keith:** __ Both.  
__ Do you think… we could talk about it? For real? I know my head isn’t exactly clear after last night, but I promise it won’t be like last year  
_ I just… still really want to talk to you  
_ __ About everything

  
  


Shiro leant over his counter, setting his phone down to put his hand over his face. He combed his fingers through his hair, and took a moment to just stare out the window before rereading Keith’s messages. He wasn’t sure how long he waited to hear Keith say something along those lines, but perhaps the feeling never faded after Keith walked out of his apartment for the last time. 

He picked up his phone and answered back, asking if Keith would rather meet up in person for this. Of course that was what the both of them wanted, and a moment later Shiro was pulling his shoes on and a jacket, grabbing his car keys and locking the door behind him. 

As Shiro drove the short distance to Lance’s front door, Keith looked over at Lance’s closed bedroom, and pulled his boots on. He couldn’t stop the way his heart ached over Lance. He couldn’t imagine what Lance thought of him now, so soon after telling him the truth about his relationship with Shiro. 

_ You’re not getting back together with Shiro—you’re just talking _ , Keith reminded himself, and promised that if Lance asked, he wouldn’t be lying if he said the same to Lance.

He took Lance’s spare key and hurried to the door when Shiro texted him that he was waiting outside. Keith had never been so quiet leaving an apartment before, and slowly shut the door, and as soundlessly as possible, locked it securely. He tucked the key away in his coat pocket and looked for Shiro’s car on the street nearby. 

When he dropped down into the passenger’s seat, Shiro said, “Do you want to get coffee or something?”

Keith let out a frigid sigh, and watched his breath crystalize for a moment. “Right here is fine,” he said, and stole a glance at Shiro. Shiro met his gaze for the moment it took for them both to decide to talk.

“Listen I—”

“I’m sorry,” Keith said. Shiro looked at him sharply, and stared as Keith swallowed hard. “You were right. I didn’t want to admit it, but I just—It was complicated because I… I loved you, but living with you after that was just… It was too much. So you were right. I’m sorry for punching you over it.”

Shiro fell quiet, and turned to stare out the frosted windshield. Keith watched as he looked down at his hand. 

“You shouldn’t have to apologize,” he said at last. “I should have handled the situation better.”

“Oh come on, you’re not a therapist or a psychologist or whatever the fuck. You’re not trained to deal with  _ any _ of the shit I put you through after Sendak,” Keith said, letting out a hollow laugh as he turned to look out his window. He propped an elbow up on the ledge and rubbed a hand through his hair. “So I’m sorry for all that. And… making you feel guilty for breaking up with me because of it.”

“Yeah, well, I deserved that punch, so…” Shiro droned, and Keith looked over at him to find him smiling.

Keith scoffed and shoved a hand out at him. They laughed together, and somehow, Keith felt lighter because of it. 

They fell quiet, just listening to the heat in Shiro’s car run, and watching the frost gather on the windows. They looked out at the outside of Lance’s apartment complex, and at the door where Keith watched a light turn on through that foggy square window. Seemed like Lance was up now, and probably wondering where Keith ran off to. 

“I don’t want to tell him what happened, but I feel like I have to,” Keith said, and looked over at Shiro. Shiro’s brow was tense, a pained expression pulling at his face. “What is it?”

“Well, considering how well hiding secrets was for me…” Shiro started. “ _ God _ , I was such an idiot.”

“I agree.”

Shiro gave him a sour look, and Keith laughed, covering his smile behind his hand. Keith cleared his throat and said, “I think Lance is just disappointed. I don’t think he hates you or anything.”

“Regardless… It’s just that—I love that you two are together and everything, but—”

“You wish it was you instead,” Keith offered, and he took Shiro’s silence as confirmation. “It’s fine, Shiro. Honestly, I always pegged myself as the jealous type, but it’s different with you. And Lance, too. I mean, he dances half-naked onstage most of the time. I’d lose my mind if I  _ was _ the jealous type.”

Shiro laughed, and murmured the same. They both had that in common when it came to Lance. 

“Do you think he could forgive me? For not telling him?” Shiro asked.

“I don’t know. You’d have to ask him yourself,” Keith said. “I could talk to him about it?”

“He wouldn’t talk to me if he could help it.”

“Yeah, you’re right…” Keith hummed in thought, rubbing his hand over his chin as he watched a car go by on the street. “He might if I chaperone.”

“Would you even  _ want _ to chaperone? You haven’t ever been the chaperoning type.”

“Yeah, because chaperoning bullshit and boring as fuck. I like to instigate shit, not put it on hold,” Keith muttered, and Shiro laughed so hard it became contagious. Keith giggled and shoved Shiro to tell him to shut up, but it just made them laugh harder. “Chaperones aren’t supposed to instigate sex,  _ Shiro _ !”

“Oh my God—Lance is rubbing off on you—” 

“I’m not your fucking chaper—” Keith hesitated, smile wide on his lips as Shiro turned to him. Keith hadn’t realized that he was leaning over the armrest, and so their noses were closer than they had been in the past year.

Keith’s breath caught in his throat, and after a moment, he released it into a shaky sigh that Shiro breathed in and said, “You’re right—You aren’t our chaperone. Be whatever you want, just come with us, wherever we go. Please?” 

Keith couldn’t stop himself. He nudged closer, eyes locked on Shiro’s before dipping down to his lips. He looked up at Shiro’s gentle eyes again, and reassured himself that this was perfectly okay. Keith pushed his lips gingerly to Shiro’s. They barely touched for more than five seconds before Keith sat back with a smile. 

“Fine, I’ll go with you guys. Honestly, I really need new clothes and Lance said he loves shopping, so maybe you could just come with us?” Keith suggested, and Shiro agreed. “I’ll text you the details.”

“Okay, I look forward to it,” Shiro said, waving his phone in the air.

“I should probably get going then—”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Let me know if you need anything—”

“Of course! Yeah, I… have your phone number now and all so I’ll just…”

“Text me?”

“Yeah, text you. Bye!” 

Keith bolted out of the car and slammed the door behind him. He hurried down the steps to Lance’s apartment, grinning like an idiot all while Shiro put his forehead on the wheel and tried to keep from smiling, and failed.

 

. . .

 

To say Lance was excited would be an understatement. H&M was a godsend, and it happened to be the store he frequented most (aside from the grocery store, anyways). Their pants were far superior to any place Lance went to in Chicago that were a decent price, and they fit his ass perfectly. He’d go so far as to say that H&M redeemed his flat ass from bullying in high school.

Keith rolled his eyes when they approached the store, because Lance stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to clasp his hands together and praise the neon sign, saying, “H&M, My Savior, please maintain my high standards once more.”

“Jesus Christ…” Keith sighed, grabbing Lance by the hand and dragging him through the doors as several teenagers exited. They slipped in after them, and Keith swore Lance was making that angelic singing voice in the back of his head. “It’s all womens clothes,” Keith argued with Lance.

“Yeah… isn’t it wonderful…” Lance sighed, swooning a little before hurriedly dragging Keith off across the store, clearly on the hunt for one thing or another.

Keith trudged along after him, heels clicking on the polished white tiles. He pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and checked to see if Shiro was nearby. He glanced around the store in search of him, but was steered away by Lance thrusting several shirts into his arms.

“You have to try this, and this— _ Oh! _ and this!” Lance cried. He hefted up a pair of shorts. “Booty shorts for the soul,” he said.

“It’s the middle of winter.”

“Which means they’re on sale, and you can wear tights with them,” Lance reminded him, and shoved him towards the dressing room. 

While Keith disappeared behind the curtain to change, Lance fiddled around on the discarded rack. He usually always shopped with Rosa and his Mom, even when he was in high school. This was perhaps the first time he’d gone shopping with anyone else. Rosa always trusted him with her fashion, and so naturally, he started to do the same with Keith. Perhaps he should just let the guy shop for himself… 

At least, he thought that before Keith stepped out from behind the curtain in snug, ripped black jeans and a sweater crop top. 

“That looks good on you,” someone said from behind Lance.

Lance yelped, recognizing the voice instantly. He whipped around to find Shiro standing there, leant back against one of the mirrors with his arms crossed.

“H- How long have you—? What’s going on?” Lance squeaked, a hand over his mouth as he looked from Shiro to Keith.

Keith smiled innocently, doing a dramatic twirl before striking a pose. “I asked him to come,” he said, and Lance’s jaw dropped.  _ The absolute audacity _ , he seethed internally, and turned his scowl onto Shiro.

Shiro smiled weakly, straightening up as Keith continued:

“I’m gonna go try shit on, and you two talk, okay?”

“Are you kidding me?!” Lance cried, all but stomping his foot as Keith swung the curtain closed again. “Keith! Get back here!”

“I’m sorry—I figured—I thought Keith would have  _ mentioned something _ ,” Shiro said, hissing the last bit. Keith laughed from the other side of the curtain, maniacally, like the devil he was.

“I’ve been bamboozled,” Lance moaned, slapping his hands over his face. 

“I did want to talk to you, though,” Shiro said, and Lance turned away, running his hands through his hair as he walked to the opposite side of the dressing room. “Lance, come on, we need to talk—”

“About what?” he exclaimed. He wondered how many people were behind these curtains, listening like they were part of some dramatic celebrity gossip. “Did Keith even invite you here, or did he just  _ mention _ that we were here and you decided to  _ show up _ ?”

“ _ No _ , of course not! Keith and I talked about… talking to you,” Shiro said awkwardly, looking to the side as Lance stormed back. “I know you’re irritated with me, and I have no intention on stepping in between you and Keith, but—”

“But  _ what? _ You are? You’re just gonna swoop in and save the day every time something like this happens? What the hell  _ is _ happening, anyway?” Lance cried. “I feel like I’m going insane when it comes to you two!”

Keith pushed his curtain aside, and Shiro gasped enthusiastically. “You like it?” Keith asked, tugging on the collar of the sweater. “It’s comfy.”

“It looks cute. I’d go for it,” Shiro said, and Lance groaned. 

This was supposed to be Lance And Keith Time—not Lance, Keith, And  _ Shiro _ Time. When he turned back to them, Keith and Shiro were staring at him, and then looked at one another. The sheer amount of conspiring going on had Lance’s head spinning. 

“We don’t have to do this right now if you don’t want to,” Shiro said. “I could go.”

_ Wow, way to make me feel like the Fun Killer _ , Lance moaned internally. “No… it’s fine,” he sighed. “I just… want to know what the hell is going on. Could you tell me that, at least?”

“I don’t think I can talk about it, but… Shiro?” Keith offered, raising his eyebrow at Shiro.

“I don’t really think we should talk about it in public,” he suggested.

“So what? They’re all strangers,” Keith huffed, closing the curtain once more. “I don’t give a fuck.”

Shiro rolled his eyes and leant back against the mirror. Lance stepped a bit closer, tipping his head at the curtain before lifting his attention back to Shiro. 

Shiro dragged his hand over the side of his face and said, “Before Keith and I broke up, there was this…  _ shithead _ regular at the stripclub Keith worked at…”

And thus commenced the story of Sendak, or at least, everything they knew about him. Lance started to wish Shiro had done worse than just break the guy’s nose, and the look on Shiro’s face reiterated that he did as well. He explained how the security was paid off, and how they didn’t do anything the night Keith was assaulted by Sendak and several of his thugs. Keith stayed in the dressing room during that time, and when he came back out, after Shiro covered how he had picked Keith up afterwards, Keith’s expression was stoic. Lance noticed now how tired his eyes were, and how they sagged from not having slept the night before out of paranoia of Sendak breaking into the apartment.

“Afterwards…” Shiro started slowly, meeting Keith’s eyes, “Keith suffered from paranoia, and flashbacks, and refused to see a therapist for it. I didn’t know what to do, especially when my comfort and affection just seemed to make him worse off. He refused to talk about it, and I made the mistake of cornering him, and insisting that we should take a break so that he could heal on his own instead of having me always around to make him feel uncomfortable.”

Lance looked to Keith, to see if this was true, and all he found was guilt. Keith looked down, eyes wide as he cracked his knuckles. “I blew up at Shiro and we had a…  _ huge fight _ . I didn’t want a break and ended up just… breaking up with him over it. I punched him and left the apartment. By that point I was out of work for a month and didn’t have an apartment or friends to live with, so I lived with Shiro while I started at Daibazaal. Until I found a place to stay.”

“Holy shit,” Lance whispered, hand over his mouth. “I can’t believe… Does anyone else know about this? At Daibazaal?”

“Sort of,” Shiro said. “Before all of the shit with Keith went down, I already had Sendak blacklisted. I didn’t want someone like that coming into the club, and afterwards, I talked to Lotor about it since Keith would be working there. He tried to convince me to go to the police for a restraining order, but Keith didn’t want that.”

“So Lotor knows?” Lance said, and they both nodded. “Well, what happens now? The guy  _ came _ to  _ Daibazaal _ . He knows where you work!” 

“I know, but it’s been an entire  _ year _ . And I’d hate to have to deal with everything that comes with a restraining order. I’d have to talk about the situation with a judge, and since it’s been an entire year since the incident...” Keith sighed, rubbing his arm nervously. “I might have to, though. It wouldn’t just be for my safety at this point—he wouldn’t be able to set a foot near the club, and so everyone there would be safe.”

“I could come with you if you decide to do it,” Shiro suggested. “Help you fill out the petition.”

“I just wish I didn’t have to deal with  _ any _ of this bullshit,” Keith groaned into his hands. 

Lance stepped aside as a couple walked between them. He wound up nudged beside Shiro, their arms touching, and the instant he could, Lance leapt away. His ears burned red. “Well, I mean, it’s better than having nothing?” he said, stumbling over the words. “And it might not solve all of your security issues and your paranoia, but it’ll help?”

“I guess. I just… don’t want to make time for him, you know?” Keith said. “Like, going to court…  _ for him _ . It’s bullshit.”

“I know what you mean. I get it, it’s just…” Lance said, sighing as he looked to the ceiling. “It’s inconvenient and shit, but this isn’t just about you anymore. If he knows you work at Daibazaal, what if he assaults one of our coworkers? And we know we could have done something to stop it, you know?”

Keith looked down, worrying his lip between his teeth until Shiro quietly suggested they move out of the dressing room. They spent upwards of thirty minutes there just filling the space with talk about sexual assault and court matters.

Keith changed back into his usual clothes, and Shiro and Lance carried the outfits Keith decided to go with. Keith hurried ahead of them, dumping the no-goes into a bin, and proceeded to scour the floor for more clothes. 

On the way out of the dressing room, Lance looked up at Shiro and said, “So if Keith didn’t work  _ for _ the stripclub, how does that work?”

“Strippers are sorta freelance. If there’s an opening in a stripclub, dancers pay a rent fee for their locker and space, and then work their schedules around all of the other dancers,” Shiro explained. “So they don’t technically work  _ for _ the owner, considering they’re  _ paying _ the guy to dance there. They also tip the security, the host, and the bartenders at the end of the night.”

“Damn. Keith told me a little about it, but not much,” he confessed. 

“Yeah, well, they still get paid a shitton because we live in a society that thrives off of sex appeal,” Shiro said with a tone of disappointment, like humanity failed him somehow. 

“Hey, I hear you guys talking about my sex appeal,” Keith called out from over the clothing racks.

Shiro went red, looking around at the customers nervously as Lance gave him a thumbs up and said, “I give your sex appeal a ten otta ten.  _ With _ heels? Eleven otta ten. Too powerful.”

“Thanks,” Keith said, beaming as he kicked out a foot and continued walking. 

They spent an entire two hours wandering around H&M before Keith decided on his final five outfits. At the cashier’s line, Shiro said, “Let me pay for half. You shouldn’t have to pay for your entire new wardrobe.”

Keith scoffed and said, “I don’t  _ wear _ many clothes, you idiot.”

“But you’re still paying for your old rent and you helped out with groceries,” Lance whined. “I’ll pitch in, too.”

“These are  _ my _ clothes. What part of ‘ _ my _ clothes’ don’t you understand?” Keith laughed, and aggressively snatched the clothes out of their arms and warded them off by jabbing his heels in their direction when he went up to pay. 

Shiro and Lance grudgingly walked over to the exit and waited there. Lance stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared out at the street where snow was starting to collect on the cars parked outside. Shiro watched him for a moment, and Lance caught sight of his reflection smiling. “What?” Lance said.

“Nothing. I’m just glad you don’t hate me anymore,” he said.

Lance bristled, and turned to him, only to hesitate at the sight of Shiro’s gentle smile. He pouted at the floor and muttered, “I didn’t  _ hate _ you. If anything I was just… jealous. That you and Keith were a thing and stuff.”

“Really?” Shiro laughed, and it just made Lance turn an even brighter shade of red. “That’s fair. I get that.”

“How could you? I mean, how did you manage not to get jealous of all the guys Keith used to dance with, being a stripper and all?” Lance complained.

“It wasn’t that I  _ wasn’t _ jealous, necessarily,” Shiro said with a shrug. “It was his job, and we weren’t all that different. Granted, I don’t get paid to wear nothing but underwear, but… I could see how another person might have been jealous of all the dancers I see on a regular basis  _ being _ paid to wear nothing but underwear. So I couldn’t really judge, you know?” 

“I guess. But we aren’t exactly handing out lapdances,” Lance said with a roll of his eyes.

Keith bounded up to them then, sporting an H&M bag slung over his shoulder. He slung his free arm around Lance and suggested they head back. Shiro’s car was parked around the block, and with all of Keith’s purchases, he recommended they just hop in instead of lugging it all across the city. Keith glanced at Lance, who shrugged. He didn’t mind being a third wheel so much anymore.

Keith sat up front to play DJ, which left Lance in the backseat with his H&M bag. He rifled through it a bit, unashamed, even when he saw Shiro raise his eyebrows at Lance through the rearview mirror. “What about underwear? You’ve got to be low on underwear now,” Lance said.

“Who wears underwear?” Keith said, and snorted at the look on Shiro’s face. “Kidding! Oh my God, you thought I was being serious.”

“I didn’t even question it,” Lance confessed.

“I mean, I  _ guess _ I need underwear,” Keith said. “But I’d rather do that on my own.”

“You could borrow some of mine,” Lance said. “My Grandma always buys me underwear for every occasion. Last Easter she got me a pair with eggs on them.”

“Easter eggs?”

“No, just eggs.”

“Are there two by the crotch?” Keith asked.

Lance’s jaw dropped, and he discreetly covered his hand over his crotch, as if threatened.

Shiro lashed his hand out to slap Keith on the arm, which meant that for a moment, everyone was screaming because it was the only hand he used to drive with.

 

. . .

 

After the scare of nearly running off the road and onto the sidewalk, Keith looked out at the street lamps decorated with Christmas lights. Each of the intersections were roped together with it, and tied into neat bows dotted with garland and fake pine tree branches. The heat in Shiro’s car kicked up, and he felt lucky to be bundled up in a car rather than waiting out at a bus stop in the snow. 

He didn’t mind the snow all that much, though, and as they came to a stop by a set of lights, he watched two siblings chase each other down the sidewalk, grabbing clumps of freshly fallen snow, and throwing it at each other. Honestly, it was kind of gross considering the slush and how grimey city snow tended to get, but Lance still laughed at it.

“I used to have snowball fights with my siblings, and I have shit aim and so I’d end up nailing them in the faces.”

“Oh my God, Lance,” Keith laughed. “Remind me never to have a snowball fight with you.”

Soon, they caught sight of families leaving in the same general direction carrying cups of hot cocoa. A few blocks later, there was a break between all of the skyscrapers to the parker where the Christkindlmarkt was hosted. Lance gasped out loud, and Keith glanced back at him before looking at Shiro.

“We should stop and check it out. I haven’t been yet this year,” he said.

“You  _ hate _ Christmas,” Shiro reminded him, but Keith gave him a flat look and glanced discreetly over at Lance’s giddy, childish smile at the sight of all the tiny, decorated houses in the park. “Fine. Let me find a place to park.”

The instant the car stopped, Lance was lunging out into the snow, jumping up and down as he waited for Shiro and Keith to hurry the fuck up and get a move on. Lance grabbed Keith by the hand and heaved him over to the nearest stand selling elaborate Christmas ornaments. He prattled on about how much his Mom loved shit like this, and dumped twenty bucks on a glass-blown ornament accented with snowflake bits. 

“You’re ridiculous. You could have bought something like that at— _ hey! _ ” Keith cried, jolted to the next booth as Shiro wandered over from where he locked up the car. 

Shiro looked at Keith’s overwhelmed expression before laughing and suggesting they get something to eat while Lance went Christmas shopping. “Would you want something?” he asked Lance, who was distracted by a small wooden nativity set. 

“Hm?”

“Something to eat or drink?” Keith reiterated for Shiro, which prompted Lance to pout and whine, “I wanna come with you guys! Don’t abandon me!”

Keith held Lance by the hand and forcibly dragged him away from the trinket stands to keep them on track. They followed the scent of cinnamon and fresh pastries, but instead wound up tracking the sugary trail of chocolate and peppermint. They bought themselves hot chocolate and chocolate covered candies drizzled in frosting and sprinkles. Lance hunted down the stand selling Christmas mugs and bought one just to pour his hot chocolate into.

“It’s gonna get cold faster,” Keith warned, but Lance didn’t listen—he already had a mustache of whip cream. 

“You know, we should get something for the apartment,” he said.

“What about one of those?” Shiro said, pointing across the row of stands, and all the snow collecting in front of them. They were multicolored paper lights, shaped like stars, and Lance’s eyes lit up at the sight of them. 

His last two paychecks covered all of his rent for that month as well as groceries with a little extra to back it up, considering how much time he spent practicing with Hunk and the other band members. So, with the extra money, Lance bought himself three popup light fixtures without batting an eye. He’d never had a job as well-paying as the one Lotor gave him, and he was thrilled by the concept of actually  _ having _ money to throw around like this.

“You have no restraint, do you?” Keith laughed.

“Says you,” Lance scoffed, turning his nose up. “You totally could have gotten more than you did at H&M, and Shiro and I even offered to help pay!”

“That was bullshit and you know it. As if you’d actually  _ pay _ for my  _ clothes _ ,” Keith scoffed. “Besides! Where am I gonna keep em anyways! I don’t have a dresser, you know.”

“Use part of my closet!” Lance said.

Keith slapped his hand to his forehead and looked at Shiro as Lance dragged him along by the hand. “He has no boundaries,” he whispered to Shiro. 

Shiro smiled, and couldn’t seem to stop smiling, especially when everything seemed to be falling into place. Keith had Lance now, and if it weren’t for that, Shiro never would have felt so at ease. He didn’t need to fret over Keith’s happiness—it was never his job to begin with, but it was impossible to ignore how much he cared for it.

He had to hold himself back from putting his arm around Keith’s shoulders. When they dated before, he couldn’t help himself from doing it—he preferred that over holding hands because he only had the one to offer. So, arm over the shoulder it was. Thinking back on it had him hesitating among the crowd of people, and he stopped to watch Keith pocket his hands and lean over a table to inspect ceramic tiles with Lance. Lance was flinging his arms around animatedly, and laughed at the deadpanned expression on Keith’s face.

Lance caught Shiro’s eyes, and turned a vibrant shade of red, all the way up to the tips of his ears. He hurried to the next booth, abandoning Keith entirely in favor of picking out a pair of socks for Julian. 

Keith glanced back at Shiro, and beamed at the way Shiro rolled his eyes at Lance, and continued to smile. It wasn’t until he watched Shiro walk up to Lance that he realized something important. Lance leapt at the sound of Shiro speaking behind him, reaching around to point out a pair of green, Grinch socks with the words “Fuck off” embroidered on them. When Lance whispered, “That’s so Keith. I’m getting them,” Keith pretended he hadn’t heard. 

He was too busy imagining a world where he could date the both of them at once.


	17. { scared to be lonely }

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know how you really don't think you have that much stuff until you actually have to move it? Like holy shit why do you have so much stuff? That's basically Keith as he empties out his storage unit and moves some of his stuff into Lance's apartment. Lance knew he didn't have that much stuff to begin with but finally having a complete living room set suddenly made his apartment so much more lived in, what? 
> 
> And of course, Keith is still scheming in the background, when's this boyo going to act?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok yall, this one is on me. I've been total anchor here and just been busy weekend after weekend after weekend. I feel so bad for making Sarah do all the hard work the past few weeks, so hopefully I can get back into the rhthym of things and get going with this fic again. 
> 
> SOoooo, many apologies for the late update my guys.

Keith never set foot near the bar when Shiro was around, but that day he walked up after practice when the waiter that day—Rolo—was done taking down the chairs from the tables. He leapt up onto a stool and propped his chin up on his hand as he watched Shiro tidy up the small metal carriers full of cherries and pineapple bits. Shiro glanced up and met Keith’s gaze in the mirror.

“And you claim that I talked to Lance during work to make _you_ jealous,” Shiro said, grinning devilishly as he turned and put the cherries on their carousel.

Keith looked through the mirror to the stage where Lance was looking at them from where he was talking to Ezor and Zethrid. Keith turned, elbows back on the bar, and waved. Lance looked away, a small smile on his lips.

“This isn’t me trying to make Lance jealous,” Keith said, turning back around to smile at Shiro. “This is me wanting to talk to you more.”

Shiro raised his eyebrows, and with a shake of his head, turned away. “Don’t push it,” he warned. “But since you’re over here, do you want something to drink?”

“Yeah, a tall glass of _you_ ,” Keith said, snapping finger-guns at him. Shiro gave him a dull look, and Keith wilted. “Yeah, you’re right—that was a Lance thing to say…”

“I told you—he’s rubbing off on you.”

“Don’t say ‘rubbing off on someone’ ever again,” Keith sighed, and chuckled when Shiro turned away to hide his blush, but Keith could see it clearly in the mirror.

He was momentarily distracted by the reflection of Lance hopping down from the stage. He looked back just as Lance approached him, and felt his insides twist in excitement. His heart lifted up, breath hitched as Lance braced his hands on either side of Keith’s thighs.

Lance smiled, tipping his nose against Keith’s. “Are you ready for tonight?” he said.

“I’m ready for that naked number you have,” Keith said, and the mention of it had Shiro turning back around.

“ _Naked_? Are you serious?” he blurted, and Lance tipped his head against Keith’s shoulder to look at Shiro. “Please tell me he’s joking.”

Lance snickered evilly, and no more than two hours later, Shiro was subjected to seeing Lance on stage, alone, with nothing but a guitar to cover his modesty.

His voice was low, climbing, shiver-inducing as he sang the slow lull of each line. It was nothing but Lance’s melancholy voice, the guitar, and a piano accenting it all. Lance drummed his nails on the side of the guitar as he sang:

“ _The only heaven I’ll be sent to… is where—I’m alone with you… I was born sick—but I love it… Command me to be well—”_

The piano ceased, and Lance’s voice rose, resonating across the club to the tune of, “ _A—Amen... Amen—! A—Amen…_ ”

He strummed the chords, and Shiro had to keep the surprise off of his face when he realized that Lance could actually _play_ guitar. Until then, he hadn’t been doing much more than provide a beat with his nails on the wood.

Lance walked, across the stage to the stool, and Shiro saw a few people tip to the side to see if they could catch a glimpse of Lance’s behind. He kept it covered by the guitar, though, much to the disappointment of the crowd as he sat and crossed his neatly shaven legs. His soft brown skin blended with the mahogany wood, and his dark hair was fluffy and tousled as if he had just rolled out of bed.

With Lance’s skin exposed and his voice all things tender and longing, Shiro was reminded of every time he spent his nights at Lance’s. They saw each other through the faded light of the street lamps outside, and the bluish shadows in Lance’s bedroom. This was different, though, public, and exposed by a soft orange spotlight glinting on Lotor’s guitar.

_I wonder how much convincing Coran had to do to get Lotor to part with it for this purpose_ , Shiro wondered, grinning as Ulaz came out on stage after the song. Lance waved like a princess as Ulaz pulled the stool along, its wheels coasting Lance behind the curtains. The crowd applauded, and Shiro went back to work.

Lance hurried into the dressing room with the waiting crowd of dancers whistling and hooting at him. He laughed and would have kicked at them if that didn’t mean exposing his junk to the world. Once safely hidden behind the curtain, he succumbed to the blush and the insufferable smile on his face.

Of fucking _course_ he saw Shiro staring. How couldn’t he?

He envied actors and singers who were able to ignore the crowd—it was both entertaining and daunting. The layout of the club made it easier, especially as the singer. When he was a background dancer, he was too distracted by everyone else on stage to bother with the crowd. Now, it was abundantly clear just how frequently Shiro watched him on stage.

The moment he could, during Allura’s performance, he hurried up the stairs, decked out in sparkly Christmas gear. He spun around the railing and raced to Keith’s mirror where he pushed aside makeup and hopped up onto the edge of the desk.

“Did you see?” Lance said.

“I did—you have a very pert ass.”

“Thanks, I try.”

“You’re welcome,” Keith laughed, leaning closer to the mirror as he flicked eyeliner into a sharp point at the edge of his eye. Lance was momentarily distracted by it, and nearly missed the reason he was here in the first place. “Well, what is it?”

“Oh! I just—Well, I’m _pretty_ sure Shiro was staring at me the entire performance,” Lance said, and Keith raised an eyebrow at him.

“Oh.”

“Oh? That’s all you have to say to that,” Lance groaned. “What am I supposed to be? Pissed? Flattered?”

“He’s probably thinking of all the times you guys fucked. Where else would he have seen that much skin and ass?”

Lance turned bright red, afraid that this was Angry Keith again, but instead, he was met with laughter. “I’m kidding, Lance. It’s cute,” Keith said, chuckling to himself as he spread a thin line of glue over the base of his fake eyelashes. He held it onto his eyelid and glanced at Lance through the mirror.

“Cute?” Lance repeated and leaned back against the mirror as Keith hummed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It is pretty cute.”

“Do you still think Shiro’s hot?” Keith asked.

Lance scoffed. “As if the level of hotness just ‘disappears.’ Of course I think he’s hot and—Wait, that doesn’t bother you, does it?”

“What? Hell no, I think he’s hot,” Keith said with a snort, laughing. “But then again, I also think you’re hot, so… who am I to say— _Hey!_ ” Lance shoved him, and Keith pushed him right back, laughing.

Lance’s name was called by the stairs, and so he ran off while Keith watched after him and considered the fact that at least _some_ part of Lance was still interested in Shiro. Hell, he was pretty positive that most everyone in the dancing crew thought Shiro was hot at some point. Shiro’s messy background with Keith, though, deterred most of them from initiating anything, especially when Shiro was still wary about dating anyone he worked with.

It didn’t stop the man from staring at Lance and Keith on stage, though. Keith could only imagine the sheer amount of conflict happening in Shiro’s brain.

 

**. . .**

 

That night as carpooling was organized across the club, Keith pulled Lance by the hand up to the bar, their bags slung over their shoulders, and jackets and scarves geared up. Alfor was finishing up with the bar, so Shiro walked out of the backroom ready to head home. He hesitated when he saw Keith and Lance waiting for him. Lance attempted to smile innocently, but it was difficult to do so when Keith demanded:

“You’re our new official carpool guy.”

Shiro scoffed, lifting up the end of the bar and walking out towards them. “Am I now? I don’t remember agreeing to this.”

“I bet you also don’t remember agreeing to helping us move my shit into Lance’s apartment,” Keith said, and Shiro looked away with an indignant smile. Keith turned his grin over to Lance, who rolled his eyes and leaned closer to Keith to say something incomprehensible in his ear. Whatever it was had Keith blushing and looking away, and made Shiro grateful that he couldn’t hear it.

Shiro led the way out the door to the parking lot, and Keith trailed close to Lance’s side as they approached the car. His hand tightened around Lance’s the moment the cold hit them, and Lance didn’t need to think twice about it to know why. Lance pulled his hand out of Keith’s so that he could wrap his arm around Keith’s shoulders and give him a tight squeeze back.

Keith’s heels clicked over the ice as he pranced anxiously, waiting for Shiro to unlock the doors. The moment it clicked, Keith was lunging in, and squeezing to the next seat to make room for Lance in the back.

The car was quiet, seeing as there wasn’t a DJ to take charge of the aux cord. Keith nudged closer to Lance as the tires of Shiro’s car bounced over a speedbump, and cruised down onto the street. He looked hesitantly out the window.

“Has… anyone seen him? Since… you know,” Keith asked, looking to Shiro.

“No, not that I know of. He hasn’t shown up on any of the security footage either,” Shiro said, and following the silence, he added, “I… may or may not have had a chat with Lotor about it.”

“Thanks,” Keith murmured.

The car pulled down Lance’s street and slowed as they approached a line of cars parked outside his apartment complex. Shiro stopped just beyond the iron gate, headlights peppered with falling snow.

Lance pushed open his door and leaned down to wave to Shiro. “Thanks for driving us!”

“Anytime—I’m not too far so it isn’t a bother,” Shiro reassured him, as he had before on other nights Lance meekly asked for a ride to escape the cold.

Keith climbed out on Lance’s side to avoid an oncoming car. He leaned back to say, “I’m still holding you to it—helping me officially move in. I’ll let you know when I find a trailer to rent.”

“Text me.”      

“Sure thing, boss,” Keith said, and mockingly saluted him before slamming the door shut.

On the way inside, and even just the instant his feet touched the ground again, Lance was reminded of just how sore he was from standing on his feet for so long. His knees ached, and the sensation sunk to the heels of his feet. The instant he was through the door, he staggered down the steps, kicking his boots off and shoving them onto the nearest carpet where the snow could melt off of them.

Keith locked the door, unlocked it, and locked it. Just to be sure it was fully secure, he gave a tug on it. Lance didn’t question it, though he was familiar with the repetitive sound from every other time Keith followed in after him.

Keith reached back, lifting a foot up so that he could hook his finger on the heel of his shoe. He flicked it off, and the moment he was free of his coat, he wandered across the apartment and dropped onto Lance’s mattress. Lance followed suit, sighing into the pillows. The two of them stared at the ceiling, ruffled from their night at work. Their faces still showed shadows of partially-scrubbed-off makeup. Lance was getting used to the fact that his pillowcases would soon be riddled with mascara stains.

“I don’t think I can move a muscle,” Keith said.

“Me neither. I might just skip dinner…”

“We had those granola bars earlier.”

“Yeah… that’s true,” Lance said and turned to look at Keith. He watched as Keith swallowed and cleared his throat before lazily kicking the comforter down so he could sneak his legs under.

“Mind if I do that thing?” Keith asked, and turned to him, and realized that Lance had been staring for several moments now.

“Yeah, go for it.”

“Are you gonna be staring at me while I do this, or…?”

“Shut up,” Lance snorted and turned away to wiggle out of his shirt and throw it aside. Keith snuck out of his clothes and collapsed with a delighted sigh of comfort before tugging the blankets up over his bare body. “You really are a nudist fiend, you know that?” Lance said.

“I’ve known for _quite_ some time—no need to rub it in,” Keith said.

“I’m not gonna snuggle you like this, I hope you realize.”

“Oh yes you will.” Keith closed his eyes, a content smile on his face as Lance tried to hold back his laughter, and failed. They both knew that Lance was too much of a cuddle-fiend to hold back, and by the morning, Lance was half-on top of Keith with a leg thrown over his hip. He had his face pressed into Keith’s hair, practically suffocating himself in it before Keith’s phone went off.

Lance was too disoriented to function, even when Keith groaned, “ _Fuck…_ ” into the pillow. Lance blinked open his eyes as Keith started to nudge him off and stagger to his feet. He grabbed a pair of sweats from the floor—whether or not they were actually _his_ was beyond the point—and tugged them on over his bare ass.

“What is it…” Lance moaned.

“I couldn’t sleep last night so I found a company that rents out trailers,” Keith explained. “I sent an email at four AM and—hang on—Hello?”

Keith walked out of the bedroom, and shut the double doors behind him, chatting on the phone with whoever was stupid enough to call at such an indecent time. Granted, it was nearly noon, but Lance could do with another hour of sleep.

Lance hadn’t realized he fell asleep until he was awoken by Keith bounding onto the bed, his phone against his ear. Distantly, his phone was ringing, waiting for a call to go through. Lance blinked blearily at him and smiled when Keith grinned at him.

“Hey,” he said, biting his lip as he leaned in close. Their noses touched. “Shiro and I are gonna pick up the trailer. You wanna come with?”

“I just kinda wanna sleep…” Lance confessed, stretching his arms out. His back was tight, and his legs were even worse off.

“That’s fine. We’ll bring the first load over in, like, an hour,” he said, and just then a muffled voice sounded on the other line. Keith pushed away slightly, still lounging on the bed as Lance closed his eyes again to the sound of Keith’s voice.

Keith combed his fingers through Lance’s curls as he asked Shiro if he was cool with the arrangement. Lance fell asleep again, and Keith would forever be amazed by how quickly Lance was able to fall unconscious. He wished he could say the same.

“I’ll leave the gym in ten minutes and head over,” Shiro was saying, and Keith hummed in acknowledgment, distracted by Lance’s hair all tangled with hairspray and products from the night before. “Is Lance there?” he asked.

“Yeah, he’s sleeping,” Keith said. “I should probably make coffee… Tonight’s gonna be rough.”

“What makes you say that?”

“It feels like I got hit by a truck,” he explained, forcing himself back to his feet. He lazily tucked the covers over Lance and wandered to the door. “And Lance doesn’t usually sleep this late. I’m… kinda worried he’s gonna overwork himself again.”

“He still has to get used to the routine. It’s only been, what? two months? And it wasn’t until recently that he started singing. That’s gotta be hard,” Shiro said. “He doesn’t know how to pace himself.”

“Yeah, well, he’s sleeping in today whether he likes it or not.” Keith tucked his phone between his shoulder and ear as he reached for the coffee grounds. “I’m making a light roast.”

“ _God_ , I hope you guys have creamer.”

“Fuck off, weakling. Creamer is for prissies and idiots ordering espressos and Starbucks and using all of their creamer to make a latte.”

“Wow, oddly specific.”

“I know, because I used to be one of those idiots,” Keith sighed. “Ah, the days when I didn’t have money.”

“Long since passed.”

“Good riddance.”

“Okay, well, I need to get my jacket on so I’m gonna hang up now.”

“Okay.”

“Okay… Bye?”

“See you soon.”

“Okay, I’m actually going to hang up on you now.” And he did.

As Shiro hung up the phone and stuffed it in his pocket, he found Pidge smirking at him through the mirror. “Don’t say it…” he groaned, rolling his eyes away from her so he could busy himself with his jacket buttons.

“Shiro— _My_ Shiro—are you a _homewrecker?_ I never would have known,” Pidge said, gawking, a hand on her chest.

Shiro rolled his eyes again as she walked over, sleek white box in hand. “ _No_ , I’m just helping Keith move his shit in from the storage garage. It’s nothing.”

“ _You hang up—No,_ you _hang up_ ,” Pidge mocked, flaunting around the wood flooring as Shiro laughed and aimed to shove her off balance. She dodged him and ran off, cackling.

Shiro drove Pidge to her and Matt’s apartment and headed for Lance’s apartment afterward. Without a place to park, he texted Keith, who hurried out before Shiro could cause a traffic jam between the narrow rows of parked cars. He locked the door after struggling a moment with Lance’s key and bolted for Shiro’s car. It was so bitter cold that his legs burned by the time he collapsed into the passenger’s seat.

He passed Shiro a thermos full of coffee and creamer, and sipped from his own as he gave directions to the facility. The car was silent aside from Keith playing his general conglomeration of music—from Fifth Harmony to Pia Mia. It was the sort of music he could get down to at a club, and he yearned to dance to it again at work. But alas, work was work, which meant he’d have to deal with his fair share of _Christmas music_. Though, this season was significantly better with Lance in the picture.

If Lance was in the car, he’d be singing by now.

“I’m pretty sure Lance will have a heart attack if Coran lets him sing Beyoncé,” Keith said, and Shiro’s surprised laughter was 100% worth it.

“Um, what?”

“Well, you know he’s obsessed with Beyoncé.”

“Of course.”

“Imagine if he got to _perform_ it.”

“He’d have a... heart attack?” Keith looked at Shiro, who was grinning in amusement. Keith laughed at him and turned his eyes towards the window. “How are you two? Is everything… fine since Lance found out?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, we’re fine. I think we’re both just eager to forget about it,” he confessed. “I mean, at least I am. I don’t really know about Lance.”

“You should talk to him about it.”

Keith grumbled and looked out the window. Talking with Lance was easy, sure, but he felt like Lance was still trying to wrap his head around how friendly he was being with Shiro. He didn’t miss the jealous streak that Lance had when it first started, and it had definitely died down since then, but Keith really didn’t want to push the limits with him. He liked Lance. A lot. A metric fuckton if he was being honest, but at the same time, he liked Shiro just as much.

“I don’t want to push it with him.”

Shiro hummed from his side of the care. “It’s been a long time since you haven’t pushed someone—does he have something on you? Reveal your deepest darkest secrets to him?” he laughed.

Keith rolled his eyes and shook his head. “No, nothing like that.”

“Then what has you being so considerate? More of him rubbing off on you?” The car turned into the U-Haul parking lot smoothly.

“He’s just… he’s been really understanding about all of this and I don’t want to fuck it up. Like, he’s already letting me stay with him, we share his fucking bed for fuck’s sake, and if he doesn’t want to bring it up and I don’t want to bring it up, then why should we?”

Shiro pulled the car into a spot and turned it off. What was it about his car that made it the place of revelations, lately? He was reminded of Grey’s Anatomy and all of the elevator scenes.

“Still, being honest with Lance will get you a long way.”

“I know, I know,” Keith sighed. He knew what he had to do, but he really didn’t want to be thinking about it.

One of the workers helped them latch the trailer onto the back of Shiro’s vehicle once the time came for it. Keith checked his phone as he watched Shiro make friends with the worker, and reassured himself that he still had another four hours before his shift started at Daibazaal. Still, that meant four hours that would be entirely spent on squeezing shit through Lance’s apartment door.

He tapped on Shiro’s shoulder and insisted they keep moving. The worker waved at them through the side mirror, and Keith looked back at him just before they turned the corner, back to Lance’s apartment. It was one of those ridiculous covered trailers with the orange stripe that said U-HAUL in some big-ass font that basically screamed, “I’M MOVING, LOOK AT ME.” Keith propped a foot up on the seat and bit his lip to keep from smiling. He couldn’t believe Lance was letting all of this happen, and he decided to blame the entire ordeal on Lance, Lance, _Lance_. He was perfectly okay with this.

The trailer rattled as they moseyed through the storage lot. Keith pointed out his garage number, and Shiro pulled the car slightly forward, so that the trailer opened as close as possible to the garage door. Keith hopped out in his gross sneakers and made his way to the lock.

Shiro walked up just as Keith shoved the door up and over his head. They both addressed the motorcycle handles exposed in the back of the garage, off to the side.

“God, I can’t wait for summer,” Keith confessed and moved forward to tug the sheet off of the first order of business. “Open up the trailer door?”

“Sure,” Shiro said and headed back to do so.

After pushing up the door, Shiro returned to help Keith drag the exposed sofa out from between the loveseat and armchair. Keith snuck in and clamored over it, hopping onto the other side so they could each lift up one end. Shiro hooked his arms underneath one side, and on the count of three, they both heaved.

With the sofa in, taking up most of the trailer space, they squeezed the loveseat afterward and pushed the armchair on top. Keith rolled his clothing rack out, the wheels creaking all the way before stopping at the trailer. “Just this and then we could head out?” Keith suggested.

“Yeah, and then everything else after?” They agreed on it.

Keith was momentarily convinced that he could _totally_ sit in the trailer without it turning into a disaster, but Shiro pulled him down from the ledge before he could get his second foot up. Keith squeaked like a chew toy being squeezed, and the noise startled Shiro enough to drop him to the asphalt.

Keith staggered to the side, clutching at the side of the trailer as Shiro let out a startled laugh, clutching at his stomach as he doubled over giggling. Keith slapped his arm and moved to slam the trailer door shut. “Let’s get moving—we only have three hours left!” he said and shoved Shiro in the direction of the driver’s side. The instant the doors were closed and their seatbelts were on, the car was moving forward.

Lance was awake when they pulled up on the side of the road. A plow had come through, so the cars that were previously there were moved to make way. Keith hurried to the front door while Shiro set to work opening the trailer.

Lance could hear the sound of the trailer door rattling, followed by the key fob failing up the steps. Lance left his bowl of cereal on the counter to open the door for Keith.

“I fucking hate this thing,” Keith said, all but slapping the key into Lance’s hands. He stopped, pointed to Lance, and said, “We have the entire living room set except tables and shit.”

“Oh. Wow, that was fast,” Lance said, raising an eyebrow as Keith kicked away the shoes stacked up the stairs. They all clattered onto the wood flooring, and Lance backed away to keep from being kicked, too. “You, uh… need some help there?”

“Yeah—let’s move all the shit in here,” Keith demanded, pointing to the living room that was nothing more than a futon and a makeshift coffee table.

They started to push things aside. The futon was moved off to the side, near the bedroom. Their feet skidded across the wood on the way there, before they backtracked and carried the coffee table into the bedroom—they’d worry about it later.

By that point, Shiro had the armchair out on the sidewalk and was working on the loveseat. Lance put on sandals over his socks, which, according to Keith, was “an absolute sin.” Regardless, it made traveling in and out easier, and soon Lance was lifting one end of the loveseat over the gate with Shiro trailing in after him, holding up the other side.

Lance glanced behind him as he slowly descended the stairs into the apartment. He looked up at Shiro to make sure he was doing fine and found that Shiro was just simply watching him make his descent. Lance looked down at the floral-printed cushions to keep from blushing.

_Damn me and my never-ending crushes_ , Lance cursed, chest tightening as Keith followed in closely behind Shiro to oversee their work. Lance seriously couldn’t believe why he still had a ridiculous, fluffy crush on Shiro, especially after everything that had happened.

Lance determined that Shiro was just too loveable of a person.

It certainly didn’t help that he was kind enough to lend his vehicle to the cause of Officially Moving Keith In.

As they gently set the couch down beneath the tapestry curtain, Keith let out an excited shout and clapped his hands together. “Perfect! It looks perfect there.”

“I feel like you’re just saying that,” Lance said, leaning against the armrest with a tired sigh.

Keith dropped his arms in annoyance. “Am not. It looks fine!”

“Uh-huh, sure. Don’t you still have more stuff to get in here?”

Shiro wiped his brow and made his way up the stairs. “We have a few more things from this trip.”

“ _This_ trip?” Lance’s jaw dropped a little. “There’s still more in that storage unit?”

Keith nodded. “Plenty more where this came from,” he said, turning on his heels to follow after Shiro.

Lance sank onto the sofa that he just helped bring in. His body was _definitely_ still feeling all the work he did last night, and there was _more_? Just end him now, put him out of his misery.

Suffice to say that after dragging in the last of that first haul, the living room felt fuller and more lived in. The furniture made it feel as though this place was immovable, and Lance felt all the more powerful for it. If he thought he loved his apartment before, by God that feeling tripled. As Shiro and Keith left the apartment to start up the car again, Lance stood on the steps, hands on his hips, and beamed at new arrangement.

He was ready to make this place feel like home—not just for him, but for Keith as well.

Lance couldn’t really call “moving” one of his favorite things—with his mom and siblings breathing down his neck last time, it was closer to “torture”—but Shiro and Keith made it enjoyable. By the time he joined them in the car, it was toasty warm, and music was playing on the speakers. Shiro’s car never ceased to have an air of comfort to it, especially with the well-worn leather seats. It reminded him of his grandfather’s car, topped with wooden panels on the doors and all.

Lance never saw Keith’s storage garage before, and so the instant the door was lifted, he gasped at the clearly-recognizable shape of a motorcycle sitting in the back. Even covered with blankets the shape of it was still obvious.

“You ride a _motorcycle?!_ ” Lance screamed, causing Keith to jump and turn around.

“It’s the only thing he ever bothered investing money in,” Shiro said, stepping around objects to get to the back of a wooden table.

Lance’s jaw was still wide open, hands in his hair as Keith turned away, small smile rising on his lips. Lance’s dazzled expression was enough to boost Keith’s ego 110%.

“It’s really not… _that_ insane,” Keith said.

“Okay, but…? Picture this,” Lance said, slinging an arm around his shoulders and arching his hand in front of them like he was following the shape of a rainbow. “You, in heels, riding a motorcycle. Leather jacket.”

“That’s probably in a _Playboy_ magazine,” Shiro muttered from in the garage. His voice echoed.

Keith went pink and shoved Lance off of him. “Whatever.”

“Can we bring it with for decoration?”

“We are _not_ stuffing my motorcycle into your apartment,” Keith said, laughing.

“Okay, but seriously? If we’re moving all our stuff into the apartment, you gotta stop calling it _my_ apartment,” Lance said, shrugging as if the comment meant little more than that: a comment. “It’s _your_ apartment, too.”

Keith stuttered for a moment before putting a hand on his forehead. He was going to give himself a headache over this. “ _Next month_ , it’ll be my apartment, too. We still have to talk to your landlord.”

Lance squealed in excitement and lunged at him. Shiro smiled at the two of them, watching Keith get all flustered when Lance was excitedly rubbing his face all over Keith’s hair. Keith caught his gaze and beamed.

By the time they got the dining table into the U-Haul, they still had a little under two hours to spare, and just enough room to fit a few bits of storage furniture underneath it. Lance and Keith stared at the mattress and contemplated its usefulness.

“We could put one mattress on top of the other?” Lance suggested.

“We aren’t _kids_ , Lance.”

“Yes, but we are adults with bad backs, so I mean…”

“ _Lance_ , we don’t _need it_ ,” Keith insisted. “And if we do, we can just come back for it and strap it on top of Shiro’s car.

“Hey hey, when did I agree to that?” Shiro asked, and realized quickly that he hardly agreed to any of this at all. Though, he didn’t mind any of it one bit.

They canceled Lance’s plans on bringing the mattress and locked up the storage garage one last time.

As they drove back, Keith enabled Lance’s singalong habit by playing Dua Lipa—always a success in that regard, because the instant Lance recognized it, he was belting out, “ _Is it just our bo—dies? Are we both lo—sing our minds? Is the only reason you’re holdin’ me tonight—’cause we’re scared to be LONEL—EEE! OH MY GOD!_ ”

“What? What, what is it?” Shiro said, suddenly panicking—he thought he accidentally ran over a squirrel.

Lance screamed again, and by that point, Keith was looking everywhere except the apartment’s stoop where someone was sitting out on the steps. Keith didn’t recognize him whatsoever, but the instant they were parked, Lance was bolting out of the back seat screaming, “ _Julian?!_ What are you doing here, oh my God!”

The kid stood up suddenly, startled by Lance’s outburst. He was about Lance’s height, dressed in a puffy winter jacket and a scarf. He looked alarmed when Lance tackled him in a hug, but when Lance twisted them around, Keith could tell that Lance was just as alarmed.

“What are you—What’s up? What’s going on? Did something happen?” Lance asked frantically as Keith and Shiro stepped out of the car and shut the doors.

Julian eyed the U-Haul and the “strangers” joining them on the sidewalk. “I… Um, are you moving again?” he asked, pointing to the trailer.

Lance looked back at it and laughed. “What? No, um… I… have a new roommate! Yeah, Keith, this is my brother Julian. Julian, meet Keith.”

Keith blinked, startled to be called out, and realized that he was supposed to do something. He started forward, reaching a hand out to shake Julian’s. “Nice to meet you.”

“Roommate.” Julian repeated, skeptical, and Keith was suddenly made aware that this kid looked like he could step through a person’s soul and come out the other side knowing every goddamn thing about them.

Lance suddenly looked nervous and reached a hand back to scratch at his hair as Shiro stepped up to them and reached his hand out to shake Julian’s.

“I’m Shiro, I’m a friend of their’s,” he said.

“Friend,” Julian repeated.

“Okay!” Lance squeaked, grabbing Julian by the shoulders and steering him towards the gate. “We have a lot of moving in to do! Let’s get you inside!”

As Lance forced Julian down to the apartment, Shiro and Keith looked at one another and raised their eyebrows. Regardless, they _did_ have a lot of moving in to do, so they set to work while Lance went to deal with Julian, and why the _fuck_ they just found him sitting out on the stoop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come scream at us!
> 
> Mogi: [thespace-dragon](http://thespace-dragon.tumblr.com/)  
> Sarah the MVP: [girlskylark](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/)


	18. { I'll wait up for you dear }

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR ALL OF THE LATE UPDATES I've just been super unmotivated lately so I haven't had a whole lot of energy to work on this D:   
> \- Sarah

 

“Julian, buddy, I love you and all, but you really can’t just show up out of the blue like this. I was really scared for a hot minute there,” Lance said, rubbing his hand over his neck to massage away the strain he put on himself, letting his blood pressure shoot through the roof like that. 

Julian didn’t look at all guilty—he looked off to the side with a flat stare and shrugged, crossing his arms. “I would’ve called, it’s just…”

“What, did something happen? Did you lose your phone?” Lance asked with a scoff, not entirely meaning it, but when he caught sight of the pucker between Julian’s brows, his expression dropped. “Seriously, dude, what happened?”

Julian’s gaze drifted off to where the front door opened, and Keith kicked it back to hold it in place while he and Shiro dragged in the table on its side. Lance looked to them, and then back to Julian, whose ears turned red in embarrassment.

“Something…  _ sorta _ happened,” he confessed. “And I didn’t want to go to Ma about it. I’m afraid she’ll get mad and whack me upside the head with a rolling pin.”

Lance flinched a little at the thought, and Julian grimaced. They both knew what  _ that _ felt like. “I won’t tell Ma,” Lance promised, pushing himself up onto one of the stools Keith brought with him. 

Julian dragged his hands through his thick, black hair and said, “Some guys jumped me last night on my way back from my night class. They took my phone and wallet and—”

“Whoa, buddy, slow down,” Lance said, shaking his head. “ _ What _ happened? Oh my God, are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

“No, no—I’m fine but I—I lost my  _ ID card _ and my  _ debit card _ — _ mierda _ ! Ma’s gonna kill me—”

“I promise you Ma’s not gonna kill you,” Lance said quickly, shaking his head. “Did you cancel your debit card and shit?” 

Julian’s eyes were suddenly red as he nodded, biting his lip. Lance put a hand to his forehead and sighed. “Okay, good, then what about your school ID? Are you able to get a new one?”

“Yeah, but a replacement’s, like,  _ thirty dollars _ .”

“Fuck, why’re they so  _ expensive? _ ” Lance cursed. “It’s  _ literally _ just a slab of plastic.”

“I know!” Julian groaned. By that point, Keith and Shiro had the dining table positioned to the left of them, and walked off to get the matching chairs. “I don’t want to ask Ma for the money for it! She’ll know something happened—she’ll flip out and I’ll have to go home every damn weekend ‘cause she won’t think campus is safe and—”

“Shit, you’re right,” Lance sighed, biting his lip. When he left home, his Ma had been sick with worry over him that first night. She was the sort of person who stayed up until all of her children were home at night, even if they were out past curfew. Once, when Lance was in high school, he stayed out until two AM at a friend’s house, and came back to find his Ma wide away in the living room, fretting too much to sleep.

As he considered this, Julian went on and on about everything that had been in his wallet at the time, his  _ phone _ ,  _ everything _ . Lance waved his hand to quiet him.

“Dude, don’t worry—I’ll help you out, okay? Don’t worry about it,” Lance vowed, holding Julian by the shoulders. “Just take a deep breath. Have you eaten anything today?”

Julian sniffed. “No, not really. The dining hall wasn’t open yet.”

“I’m gonna make you something to eat. And I’ve gotta get going to work soon, so you gotta go back to campus. We’ll figure something out, just—”

“I don’t want to go back,” Julian insisted, shaking his head. His eyes were wider than ever, and Lance was certain he’d never seen that amount of expression on Julian’s usually apathetic face. “Can I stay here tonight? Please?”

“I’m not even gonna  _ be _ here until, like, two AM buddy,” Lance said, looking at the clock as the front door opened again, and four chairs clanked past the threshold. Keith cursed under his breath as he staggered down the steps. 

“Then take me with you,” Julian insisted. “I can just sit in the theatre or whatever—”

“Absolutely  _ not _ . No way,” Lance said, laughing nervously as both Shiro and Keith looked up at the mention of  _ Julian going to work with them _ . 

But Julian gave him those watery, puppy-dog eyes Lance rarely ever saw on him. It was such a bizarre look to see on his younger brother that Lance broke instantly. “Oh my God,  _ fine _ . But you fucking  _ owe me _ , alright? So you have to stay quiet about  _ everything _ , okay?”

“Okay—wait, what do I have to stay quiet about?” Julian said, shoulders slackening.

 

**. . .**

 

Lance had a hand over his face as he walked Julian through the back of the stage curtains. He couldn’t stand to see the look on his brother’s face, and so he just kept his eyes forward as he walked across the stage, emerging from behind the curtains, with a dazed Julian trailing several paces behind him. From behind, several of the dancers peered between the curtains to look after the young freshmen-in-college, and stare in confusion. 

Lance hopped down from the stage, duffle still over his shoulder as he walked up to where Lotor was leaning against the bar. His white hair was in a loose ponytail, and his slacks exposed colorful socks underneath where his legs were crossed at the ankles. 

“Um… Hey, Lotor?” Lance said weakly, worrying his lip between his teeth as Lotor turned around, and acknowledged the fact that an underaged boy was standing behind Lance. 

“Hey, what’s up?” he said, trying hard to look past that detail.

“Would it be cool if my brother hangs around out here tonight? Or maybe in your office?” Lance asked, and the guilt on his face was enough to make Lotor think twice about saying no. It was obvious that Lance knew that this was crossing a line.

Lotor tipped his head to the side, and when his eyes fell on Julian, Julian perked up and tried to straighten himself into looking older than he was.

“How old are you, kid?” he asked.

“Eighteen.”

“You know this is a twenty-one plus club, right?” Lotor said, and looked pointedly at Lance.

“I know, but—he can’t go back to his dorm, and I’d rather not leave him alone in my apartment,” Lance insisted. “He can just hang out in your office or something—he doesn’t need to be out here.”

“Narti’s up there right now taking a nap,” Lotor said, looking down at his hand to pick at a hangnail. “So he can stay out here for now.”

Lance was so surprised by the agreement that his jaw dropped and he made eye contact with Shiro, who just emerged from the backroom. Shiro made an alarmed expression, hand on his chest. Lance turned to stare at Lotor again, who seemed more or less amused by the shock.

“Claim a spot, kid—just none of the tables because we have reservations,” Lotor said, gesturing to the bar. “And I’ll allow  _ one _ alcoholic beverage but that’s  _ it _ .”

“Yes, sir. Thank you,” Julian said, practically bowing as Lotor sauntered off and disappeared between the stained glass archways.

Lance turned back to Julian with a surprised laugh. “Well. That went better than expected. You heard the man—take a seat.”

“Preferably at the end of the bar,” Shiro put in, patting his hand in front of the spot he wished Julian to take. 

Julian walked over, and Lance followed close behind. “So… is this, like, a stripclub? Do you… work in a stripclub?” Julian asked, his voice  _ clearly _ unimpressed.

The back door swung open, and an offended-looking Alfor stood there. “Honey, no, this is a  _ burlesque _ club. Watch your mouth,” he said, and walked off.

“Burlesque as in… the movie?” Julian said, still unimpressed.

Lance hesitated, leaning against the counter. He frowned a little and said, “I mean… I guess? Yeah, that’s about right. But I have to get ready for the show so…”

“Wait, you’re  _ in _ the show?” he cried, suddenly impressed. “I thought you were just, like, a waiter or something.”

“Fuck no, he’s the  _ whole _ show,” Alfor said before Lance or Shiro could say a word. Alfor hesitated, realizing he crossed a line. “Sorry, I got a little excited there. Carry on.”

Lance went pink and waved his hand, laughing nervously. “No, no, I’m not the  _ whole _ show. There’s three leads—Keith, this woman named Allura, and  _ then _ me.”

“Humble,” Shiro scoffed, rubbing a towel over the bar surface.

Julian’s jaw was in his lap by the time Lance hurried away, and bounded up onto the stage where Ezor was prancing around Zethrid, kicking her legs out as she cooed, “ _ Oo—ooh _ , who’s the cutie over  _ there? _ ”

Lance groaned, all but flopping on the stage before rising and saying, “My  _ brother _ . Don’t. Say. A  _ word _ .”

Zethrid snorted, and the two of them started laughing as Lance darted between the curtains, face red with embarrassment. He couldn’t believe he had to perform in front of  _ Julian _ . He’d rather it be Rosa, but alas, he couldn’t get  _ everything _ in life.

Lance hurried up the stairs and, when he reached his mirror, he threw his duffle down on his chair and unzipped it viciously. He was behind schedule already, and was aware that Coran was likely to yell his name any moment now and—

“ _ Lance! _ ”

There it was.

“Sorry! Sorry—I’m working on my makeup!” Lance shouted, and kicked his shoes off and shimmied out of his pants right then and there. His coat went up on a hook, and his shirt was off before anyone could say otherwise. He had his first costume out and ready to go hanging over his chair, and soon he was wiggling into it and throwing on sweatpants for warm ups. 

He missed warmup.

Keith hurried up the steps in time to find Lance cursing up a storm and trying to apply his fake eyelashes, inches away from the mirror.

“Hey, hey, lemme help with that,” Keith said, pulling up a stool. “Relax, shit, you’re so tense. What’s up?”

“What’s  _ up _ is that my judgemental  _ ass _ of a  _ brother _ is sitting at the bar,” Lance muttered. “I was sorta hoping Lotor was gonna blow a gasket and say ‘no’ but here we are!” He laughed nervously as he lifted his brows and closed his eyes. Keith pressed the eyelashes on, and held them steady for a moment.

“Well, as long as Julian doesn’t say anything, you should be fine,” Keith said with a smile. “And he doesn’t even look like he’s a day under twenty-one. He’ll fit right in.”

“Yeah, in a hoodie and  _ jeans _ ,” Lance scoffed.

Just then, Coran screamed Lance’s name again from the bottom of the stairs. Before Lance could shout back, Keith yelled, “ _ Hold your fucking horses! Jesus! _ ”

“Thanks,” Lance said, smiling.

“No problem. Go get ‘em, tiger.”

“Yeesh, never sound like a dad again,  _ ever _ .” They both laughed as Lance stood up and hurried to the stairs. Keith busied himself with putting away Lance’s makeup supplies until there was nothing else to do but wait for the second half of the show.

When Lance arrived at the side of the stage, panting, he found everyone eagerly pushing up against one another to see outside of the curtains. Lance raised an eyebrow at them and said, “What’s going on?”

Acxa looked back at him and said, “I dared Ezor to go talk to your brother and—”

“You  _ what?! _ ” Lance cried, lunging forward and sneaking past everyone to see that a very glittery, underdressed Ezor was frollicking between the tables as they filled and arriving next to Julian at the bar. “The first number is about to start soon!”

“Coran’s gonna be so mad,” Acxa said, cackling.

Lance put his hands on his face and moaned, only to look up as they all watched Coran storm across the dining area to grab Ezor by the back of her lingerie. They all heard her squeak as she was dragged back to the archway, and to the backroom. Suffice to say that Julian looked thoroughly scarred, and in dire need of the drink Shiro served him a moment later.

Coran stormed over to them all and swung a towel around to ward them away from the front curtain. They all scampered away, and took their places. Lance hurried up the steps and donned his Santa hat, insides  _ shuddering _ at the thought of Julian seeing him like this—

“Hey hot shot,” Zethrid hissed from the side, and Lance glanced over at her. “Don’t let him get to you. Get to him first before he has the chance.”

Lance blinked in surprise, and smiled devilishly. “I  _ am _ pretty good at annoying people…” he hummed thoughtfully as Coran hurried up to fix his microphone. Lance fluffed up the white frill on the edge of his Santa Claus costume, and became thoroughly ready to embarrass the crap out of his little brother. Allura joined him up on the steps, nudging him with her elbow as she grinned and cocked her hip.

He turned away from the curtain as it began to open, and when the stair lights fanned up to him, instrumentals setting up the stage for Lance to turn with a hand over the thick leather belt on his waist, the other holding the mic close.

“ _ Santa baby… slip a sable under the tree—for me… _ ” He took several steps down, rolling his body back as he clicked his heel on the steps and winked at the bar where Julian’s jaw dropped. “ _ I’ve been an awful good boy, Santa baby—so hurry down the chimney tonight... _ ”

Allura spun around, her white hair glittering in the lights as she chimed in for her lip synced duet. She was wearing nothing more than frilly red underwear and a shimmery bow over her breasts. 

“ _ Santa baby... a '54 convertible too convertible too—light blue _ .” She followed Lance down, drawing her heel across the step to cross in front of Lance as she pulled him close and the two of them swayed. “ _ I’ll wait up for you dear… Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight… _ ”

At every possible moment, Lance looked to the bar, especially around all the lued parts of the song where he pushed his knees away from one another and dragged his hand down over his crotch, singing, “ _ Come and trim—my Christmas tree— _ ” or, “ _ Been an angel all year— _ ”

Julian had his hands over his face, beet red, but Lance could see his shoulders shaking with laughter. When the number finished, Lance and Allura stuck to the front of the stage as the curtains closed, and Lotor stepped up to join them. He passed his mic to Lotor, who gave him a distracted smile. Lance figured the guy had a bit of stage fright, but it was just a theory at this point. Lance plucked his Santa hat off and twirled the frilly end, grinning at the people closest to him at the tables.

The clapping slowed as Lotor raised both hands with a smile. Once he stood among the silence, he said, “I’d like to thank you all for coming tonight. We have a very…  _ festive _ arrangement organized for tonight. The main portions of the show will be performed and sung by one of our own—”

He gestured to Lance, and Allura did the same, and Lance waved cheekily with his Santa hat in hand.

As Lotor went on with his usual short speech, Lance slapped a smug grin on his face and stared Julian down. Julian covered his face again, shaking his head.

When Lotor left the stage, he passed the microphone back to Lance, who gave it a twirl before stepping in line with Allura as the curtain rose higher and higher, and Rax turned on the main lights to illuminate the entire first act crew collected in glamorous, frilly Christmas costumes. 

The band picked up the next song, and soon, they got low and started stomping their feet, rising with the beat until Lance stretched a hand over his head singing, “ _ He’s makin’ a list, and checkin’ it twice—gonna find out who’s naughty or nice—SAN-TA CLAUS IS COMIN’ TO TOWN—OH YEAH! _ ”

The cheesy Christmas songs were always a necessary component to  _ any _ Christmas show, and since it was near-impossible to make the Jackson 5 Christmas album sexy, they stuck to making the crowd laugh with their attempts. In practice, Lance couldn’t help but cackle every time he saw the dancers do the can-can and turn, sicking their bums in the air. But, since he was in the middle of a performance, all he could do was smile and hold back the giggles. 

As the evening rolled in song by song, the club filled up, and people stood in the back by the bar. Little did he know, the host had already flipped the sign on out on the marquee that read, “SOLD OUT”. Lance hadn’t seen the place this full before, and smiled to the crowd just before intermission, and took an elaborate bow with Allura before the curtains closed. 

Lance turned back to the others and said, “ _ Yeesh _ , is it  _ usually _ this packed near Christmas?” 

“Hm? Oh, sometimes,” Allura said, tapping the blush on her cheeks as she thought it over. “Whenever dancers get naked on stage, word spreads quickly. I imagine it’s all the fuss about that… You know, last year I was naked all except for two candy cane lollipops and a present over my crotch.”

_ Naked? _ Lance repeated, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. He nearly forgot about that number—the song changed every night this week, so it never felt consistent enough to chalk down as a permanent part to performance.

“Shit, I forgot,” Lance hissed, looking back to the curtain where Julian sat, oblivious, at the bar. 

Lance turned red all over, and when Keith found him, he was an absolute tomato. Lance put his hands over his face as Keith stood back in amusement, arms crossed and smug smile completely  _ infuriating _ . 

“How’s it goin’?” he asked, laughing as Lance combusted.

“Julian’s gonna see me  _ naked _ …”

“You have a guitar to cover it up.”

“He’s gonna torment me for the rest of my life…”

“We already determined that the second you decided to let him tag along,” Keith corrected him. 

Lance knew he probably should have fought harder to make Julian stay at the apartment, but… it wasn’t every day he saw his younger brother so vulnerable. Seeing Julian on the brink of tears was torture, no matter how much Julian tormented him. Lance couldn’t help how empathetic he was, and could only hope that Julian wouldn’t be a total ass about this. 

So, as the second half of the show started with Keith as the center of attention, Lance went to the bar to check with Julian. He had a slightly longer break than the other dancers between the acts, and he tended to take that chance to get a drink or two in. 

He wasn’t exactly discrete with his outfit, and was stopped several times on his way to Julian to chat with patrons. Lance smiled and thanked a group of girls trying to hold him back a bit longer, but he pried himself away once he caught Julian’s gaze across the way. 

“I can’t believe you’re wearing underpinnings,” Julian said, arms crossed. Lance stuck his leg out closer to him. “Oh God, please no.”

“I dunno—I think they’re kinda sexy,” he said, and Julian slapped a hand over his face, laughing uncontrollably. “What? I mean, it’s fun, isn’t it?”

“Well,  _ yeah _ , but… I can’t believe  _ you _ do it,” he said, still giggling behind his hand. 

Lance frowned a little. “Is it… a  _ bad _ thing?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as Shiro walked over to them and started a drink for Lance. 

Julian glanced at Lance, turning pink as he looked away and muttered, “No, it’s fine. Do you get paid well?”

“Oh! Yeah, I do,” he said eagerly. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have offered to help you out.”

Their eyes met again, and Julian rolled his eyes. He was smiling. “Fine, whatever. It’s cool, I guess. Does Rosa know?”

“Yeah, but you better not tell Ma. She’ll have a heart attack. So much for being a good Catholic boy,” Lance said, and they both drew a cross over their chests, laughing. 

“Right. I won’t tell Ma,” he promised.

Shiro nudged a short glass between them, and Julian watched after him as he walked away. He jabbed a finger in Shiro’s direction. “Did you sleep with him?”

“What?! Where would you… Where did you get  _ that _ idea?” Lance snorted, giggling nervously as he turned away and drank heavily. It was practically straight vodka, exactly what he needed right now. 

He finished it off, set the glass down, and said, “Well! I need to get back to it. I’ll talk to you later!”

“I’ve never seen you be so evasive before.”

“Fuck off,” Lance laughed, shoving Julian’s leg as he sauntered off, back to the archway.

After his break, Lance is dragged to the costume closets, and forced into red glitter tights (that itched like nobody’s fucking business) and bright red heels. It’s topped with a one-piece red corset-underwear-combo, and he can barely breathe by the end of it. Singing was going to be torture, as it always was during this number.

The night went on, though, in spite of everything. Lance was lucky that his childish nature came through, otherwise he would have froze on the stage in his birthday suit. Seeing Julian, however, made it possible for him to continue with a wink and a kissy-face. Julian slapped his forehead on the bartop, and earned a pat on the shoulder from Shiro.

When the curtains closed one last time, and the club cleared out after a magnificent roar of applause, Lotor steered Lance around from patron to patron at the foyer exit. Normally, Allura was the lucky lady seeing everyone out and accepting handshakes, but she spent the past several years doing so with Narti, and preferred Lance take over her place instead.

When Lotor, at last, locked the front door after the last person was gone, he turned to Lance with a thrilled shout, arms flung around Lance’s neck. Lance laughed, startled, and beamed as Lotor praised him.

“You were incredible tonight! We were sold out for the whole evening,” he said, squeezing Lance’s shoulders tight before pulling away. Lance was certain he never saw Lotor so incredibly happy. “You were absolutely brilliant—I was afraid bringing someone new on would confuse our regulars, but they all seem to love your voice.”

“Really?” Lance said, the word hitching as he thought about how often he saw Lotor mingling with the patrons. Were all those times focused on Lance’s performance?

Lotor started ahead, leaving the foyer as the sound of chairs rattled in the background. Rolo and a few of the dancers were busy putting them up on tables while the other waiters counted tips. Through the night, patrons tended to give their tips for dancers to the waiters, who separated the stacks. It never amounted to much more than a few bucks per dancer, since there were so many, and so Lance took his share from the stacks on the counter with his name on it. 

Lance looked across the bar in search of his brother, but it turned up blank.

Alfor came wandering out of the backroom then, so Lance asked, “Hey, did you see where Julian went?”

“Ezor took him backstage,” he said, and Lance squeaked in horror. Backstage after hours meant nudity and raccoon eyes from dancers washing off their makeup. 

Lance bolted past Lotor and headed for the stage. He leapt up and disappeared behind the curtain, already hearing the sound of people giggling over his brother. Lance bristled, a shudder crawling up his spine before he was capable of moving again. He couldn’t imagine the sort of stories Ezor was telling poor Julian now.

The instant he came close enough, Lance snatched Julian by the arm and dragged him away. Ezor shouted in protest, and Julian was laughing too hard to bother fighting back. Lance ignored how Zethrid shouted mockingly, “Don’t run away! Aw, come back!”

“Stop harassing my brother!” Lance shouted back, and hurried up the stairs with Julian following close after.

Lance sat Julian at his mirror and grabbed his duffle. “I have to go change—you say here and don’t let Ezor convince you otherwise,” he ordered. 

“I hope you realize that Rosa is getting an entire report of this evening.”

“You do realize photos are against the rules here, right?”

“Oh, I know. But I’m sneaky.”

“My boss will have your head if he finds out,” Lance warned, and walked off to one of the changing rooms. He passed Keith’s mirror along the way, and sighed dramatically as he walked by. Keith met his eyes in the reflection, and scoffed.

During the time it took for Lance to make himself decent, Julian had already texted Rosa, sent pictures, and was now snickering in the chair Lance left him in. He hid his phone and acted innocent all through the drive in Shiro’s car, and in through the front door of Lance’s apartment. Keith claimed the couch by tossing his duffle onto it, which left Lance and Julian with the bedroom. 

It was roughly one in the morning when Lance popped pizza rolls into the oven. The shower was running in the other room, and Keith came to join him in the kitchen.

“Sorry to have to demote you to the couch,” Lance said, wincing as he bent down to grab the orange juice carton in the fridge. He was sore all over, and his feet ached like nothing else. 

“It’s fine—I don’t mind,” he said, shaking his head. Lance looked back to Keith, who’s hair was frizzy from excess hairspray, and his eyes were surrounded by soft, pinkish skin without makeup on. He looked plain, but no less beautiful.

Lance set the carton aside to step around the counter and lean an arm against the back of Keith’s stool. Keith grinned, and leaned in to nestle his forehead against Lance’s. They were both grimey from work, and smelled of cosmetic products and sweat, but it did little to suppress Lance’s want to kiss him. 

He leaned his lips in slowly. The apartment faded out as the touch of Keith’s fingers advanced and grazed along the arc of Lance’s neck. Keith’s lips still tasted like sweet, minty toothpaste as Lance leaned back. Keith’s thumb passed over Lance’s throat, following the motion of Lance’s Adam’s apple when he swallowed. Warmth spread through every inch of his skin that Keith touched, and it sparked the smile that spread over Lance’s lips.

“You’re a good kisser,” Keith said, quietly, and Lance laughed in surprise.

“Wait, really?” he said, giggling. Keith bit his lip to subdue his grin as Lance ducked his head, blushing hard.

“Yeah, I like it.”

“Mm, and what else do you like?” Lance teased, looking up to watch Keith’s cheeks change hue. They laughed as Keith soothed his fingers over Lance’s neck again, coaxing the blush back out.

“I…  _ really _ like your legs,” he said, and Lance laughed harder, looking away so he didn’t have to see the sincerity on Keith’s face. Keith leaned in, though, his free hand dipping down to massage the side of Lance’s leg. “Your  _ thighs _ .”

“Oh my God, Keith, not tonight…” Lance groaned, laughing nervously as Keith’s breath fanned over his exposed throat. 

Just then, the bathroom door opened, and Lance hurriedly stepped away and ran to check the pizza rolls. Keith laughed maniacally as Julian wandered in through the bedroom, damp hair sticking in all directions. 

“How’d you like Daibazaal?” Keith asked Julian. Julian came to sit beside him at the counter, looking wary about the entire ordeal.

“It was… fun, I guess,” he said, smiling when Lance looked over. “That was the most college thing I’ve done all semester, so… pretty cool, I guess.”

“Break must be coming up soon?” Lance asked, and Julian nodded. “Have you gone to any parties?”

“Not really. Classes are…  _ really _ difficult,” he confessed, scratching the back of his head. “I really should be studying for finals, but… I was kind of burnt out. Tonight helped.”

Lance pulled the pizza rolls out of the oven then and let them cool off on the stove. Keith dismissed himself to take a shower, and soon, it was just Julian and Lance. 

“Are you at least having fun?” Lance asked, and the hesitance on Julian’s face had his heart wrenching. “Make time for yourself, buddy.”

“I know, I know,” Julian sighed, propping his chin up on his hand. “Do you work tomorrow?”

“No, I have Mondays off. And  _ you _ probably have classes.”

“Not until the afternoon. We can work on… figuring all my shit out in the morning then I guess,” he said. Lance agreed, and slid a glass of orange juice over to Julian. He poured one for himself, and wandered around to sit beside his brother. They drank in silence before Julian cleared his throat and spoke again.

Julian glanced at Lance for a moment, and then over to where the shower started. “Are… Are you dating that guy?” he asked.

Lance’s insides churned uncomfortably. He felt his heart wade through the contents of his stomach as he wondered how Julian’s mind was working now. Rosa knew Lance’s preferences, and Julian never bothered to pay attention to it. He didn’t date many people before—never felt mature enough for it—but… he slept with both guys and girls before meeting Shiro. Not many, but obvious enough for Julian to know about them.

“Um…” Lance started, twisting his hands around his cup. “Why? Do you not like him or something?”

Julian blinked at him, and then looked away to stare at his juice. “What? No, it’s not—I’m just asking. He seems… cool. Even if I’m not… you know… I can see why you like him.”

Lance took a long sip of his juice.

“I won’t be mad if you  _ are _ dating him,” Julian continued. He checked his phone then, and said, “Rosa might have let it slip earlier. Don’t worry about what  _ I _ think,  _ sabes _ ? It’s your life, man.”

Lance wished he wasn’t sentimental, but there he was, tearing up. He hurriedly rubbed his hands over his eyes and blamed it on the leftover mascara. Julian sipped his orange juice as Lance cleared his throat and said, “Thanks, buddy. I’ll have to fight Rosa now for betraying me.”

Julian laughed, and hopped off the stool. “Won’t argue with you on that. Where are the plates? I’m starving.”

When Keith was done showering, Lance and Julian filled up on pizza rolls and retired to the bedroom. After eating, they underneath the covers, and listened to the faint sound of dishes shifting in the cupboard when Keith grabbed a plate for himself. Light filtered in through the foggy glass of the bedroom door, and mingled yellow light against the blue street lamps outside.

Lance turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

He never thought he and Julian would grow past whatever hostility they carried through childhood. He couldn’t help but think that adversity was a way to overcome childish animosity. Adversity was how people grew, after all. How people cope with the struggle, and the result of it determines the strength of the individual.

Every survivor was a success.

Keith laid awake on the couch popping whole pizza rolls into his mouth one at a time. Some might say he was immune to heat—if he could, he asked for his lattes extra hot at the coffee shop—and the pizza rolls were proof of it.

He thought of Lance, and smiled despite his exhaustion. He glanced back at the bedroom door, and turned onto his side to study it. He yearned to snuggle something, and so he resituated his pillow so he could hug it against his stomach. He used the damp towel to prop his head up, and fell asleep like so. 

He’d wake in the middle of the night to a car passing by, and feel his heart kick into motion. The short burst of adrenaline kept him awake for half an hour after, and the cycle began again. He always managed to fall asleep again, even in the restlessness of the city.


	19. { all these lovers got you losing control }

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to go clubbin' bitchessss!!!! And Shiro has a surprise for everyone~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not posting last week, I called a break so we didn't burn ourselves out (ie sarah while I was dealing with irl stuffss) but we are back and the fic is pumpin! Hope yall enjoy!!

 

“Shiro will drive you back to Northwestern. I have practice with the band, so I’ll see you when we’re all home for break! And make sure to make time for yourself too, bud, okay?”

Lance waved after Shiro’s car as they pulled away from the curb. Julian looked out at him and managed a weak smile before settling back into his seat. Lance tucked his hands under his arms and sighed, watching his breath collect in the air. He’d be seeing Julian again in no time, but… he wished it was sooner. He liked having Julian over to visit.

Keith was waiting inside for him when he headed back to the door. He walked up the steps as Lance kicked his shoes off. Keith locked, unlocked, and locked the door again before turning to wrap his arms around Lance’s middle. 

“Your brother’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah, on rare occasions,” Lance laughed, tipping his head back. He turned to kiss Keith’s hair. “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble. Sorry I didn’t give you much warning…”

“Lance, it’s fine, honest,” Keith said. “Your siblings can come over whenever.”

“You got booted to the couch…”

“I don’t care. I didn’t mind at all as long as you skip practice today so we can hang out.”

Lance struggled to keep his face straight, but he was already grinning, swaying against the lull of Keith’s sleepy morning voice. It wasn’t even morning, but it felt like it, especially when Keith’s arms were around him and the sunlight was oh so gentle and warm, streaming in around and through the tapestry. 

Lance let Keith pull him over to the couch, where they laid down together and made up for the fact that they spent the night in separate beds. Lance pressed his forehead to Keith’s chest and breathed in the smell of Keith’s body wash from the night before. Keith’s chin came to rest on his hair, and he shuddered at the sensation of Keith’s hands gently drawing circles on his back. 

He had another hour and a half before practice. That was an early enough warning, right? He weaseled his phone out of his pocket and burrowed into the warmth of Keith’s arms as he tugged the screen up to his face and pulled up Hunk’s number.

“What are you doing?” Keith whispered.

“Canceling practice.”

“I was kidding, you know,” Keith laughed but held onto him tighter as Lance smiled and sent the text off to Hunk. “We should listen to music or something.”

Lance murmured his agreement and started to scroll through his music app. Keith did the same before stopping at his collection of podcast episodes. He started to play one—it was a clearly British man with a mesmerizing voice. He used to fall asleep to these podcasts before he woke up one night to the sound of an older English guy whispering in his ear. He stopped listening to podcasts at night after that.

“What  _ is _ this?” Lance laughed.

“It’s about weird, unexplained events. Wanna listen to it?” he asked, and after a moment of hesitation, Lance went along with it. Keith set his phone over their heads on the armrest. It reminded him of when Shiro had some vague AM radio station on talking about the meaning of life or whatever the fuck. He closed his eyes to it and tangled his legs around Lance’s so neither of them could leave this pocket of contentment. 

Eventually, though, there came a time when both their stomachs yearned for food, approximately two episodes later. Lance tiredly blinked open his eyes and snuggled closer to Keith to get his attention. 

“Hungry…” he moaned.

“Do you wanna go out for food?” Keith asked. “I don’t feel like cooking today.”

“Chinese food…?” Lance said, sound oh-so pitiful as Keith laughed and reached for his phone.

“Yeah, sure, sounds good.”

“There’s a place just two blocks away,” he said and rolled off the couch. The hit to the ground definitely woke him up, and he bounded up ready to go.

By the early evening, it was dark out, and Keith and Lance found themselves at the window counter splitting up the massive plates piled high with seasoned chicken and vegetables. Lance scooped up all the water chestnuts for himself and munched on them as he watched a couple walk by holding hands. 

His eyes followed them until they were out of sight. He turned to Keith and asked, “I wonder if we look that cute on the street.”

“On the street? Are we prostitutes now?”

“No, I’m just saying—”

“I’m selling my body for dancing, not sex.”

“Yes, I know that, but—”

“But what? Are you gonna start paying me now or something?” Keith demanded, hand on his hip. Lance found his annoyance too hilarious to ignore and burst out laughing. Keith shoved him in the arm and went back to shoveling food into his mouth. “Whatever. Next time we have sex you have to clean up afterwards.”

“What the fuck, I cleaned up last time. I washed the sheets and  _ everything _ . I hate washing the sheets.”

“Well, so the fuck do I.”

“Are we just not gonna have sex anymore then? If we don’t have sex we don’t have to wash the sheets.”

“We are  _ too _ having sex,” Keith insisted, jabbing his chopstick on the table near Lance’s hand. He jolted his hand away to keep from being stabbed. “I don’t know  _ when _ , but it’s probably gonna happen the second we walk through the front door next.”

“That’s tonight.”

Keith popped a bit of chicken into his mouth and raised his eyebrows at Lance through their window reflection. Lance snickered and jabbed Keith in the arm, only to be jabbed back. They got into a rhythm of jabbing one another until Keith’s phone went off, blasting  _ Panic! At The Disco _ at full volume.

Lance started shimmying around to the music, and sang even after Keith answered the call, “ _ I’m walkin’ the long road… watching the sky fall… The lace in your dress! Tingles my neck! How do I LI—VE! _ ”

Keith cursed at him to be quiet and ruffed his hair so that he wound up giggling instead of singing. On the other end of the line, Ezor was laughing obnoxiously and screaming over other peoples’ chatter. 

“ _ Come with us! It’ll be fun! _ ”

“I’m not sure if I can do a night out. I feel old and my joints creak whenever I move,” Keith said.

Another voice came on the line—Acxa. “ _ You big pussy—your joints do not creak. You’re not a rusty old doornail. _ ”

“You mean  _ hinge _ .”

_ “Whatever, puss. We’re coming to you. Where are you? _ ”

“Chinese place down the block from Lance’s. Lao’s, I think?” he said, and Lance perked up at the prospect of hanging out with the squad.

_ “We are so not pregaming at a Chinese restaurant _ ,” Ezor hissed in the background.

“That sounds like a challenge,” Keith grinned. “We have extra food, too. I don’t know if we can finish it all…”

“ _ Okay fine, we’re coming _ ,” Ezor said.

“ _ Ooh, cumming, _ ” Acxa said.

“Oh my God,” Keith said, hanging up immediately. 

“Cumming like E.E. Cummings,” Lance said and shot finger-guns at Keith only to be shoved off his stomach. Lance cursed and clamored to stay on, slapping his entire arm on the counter as he fell. Keith snorted and laughed so loud that his amusement filled the entire empty Chinese restaurant. 

About half an hour after Lance’s ass ended up on the tiles, Ezor, Acxa, and Zethrid showed up with an entire Svedka bottle stashed under one of their jackets, and a water bottle of some other mysterious liquid that was passed around the second they said, “Sup losers! Why’re you eating here?”

“It’s convenient and tastes good,” Lance said, reaching for the bottle in Keith’s hands.

“I dare you to get drunk on sake,” Ezor told him, and Lance paused before he could take hold of the bottle.

“Don’t you dare,” Keith said. “I’ve never seen him tipsy—I don’t want to see him wasted.”

“Aw, you’ve never seen me drunk?” Lance said. “That’s so cute.”

“You find the weirdest things cute,” Keith remarked.

“I accept your challenge, Ezor,” he said, and Keith slapped a hand over his face. 

They ordered sake, and when the waitress came with the cute, porcelain jug and a series of small cups, Lance took one and asked, “Do I take it like a shot?”

“Holy fuck,” Keith groaned.

“Hell yeah,” Ezor said.

“Okay,” Lance said with a shrug and began to pour a cup for himself. 

Before Keith could shout at him to stop, Lance shot back an entire cup of hot sake. From across the room, the server looked like she was having an aneurysm as Lance slammed the cup down, gasping. He looked like he was about to shit. Zethrid drummed her hands on the table and hollered, and Acxa screamed, “The whole jug! Chug it!”

“I don’t think I can…” Lance moaned.

Keith put his hand over the top of the jug and glowered at Acxa. “I won’t let you ruin this moment, witch.”

Acxa crossed her arms and shrugged, smug enough that her girlfriend got Lance to take a sake shot like a complete idiot. 

“I feel like I just splashed hot tea on my face,” Lance said, looking pitifully to Keith, he rolled his eyes. “I need something to wash it down.”

“Here,” Zethrid said, pulling the Svedka bottle out of her jacket. Lance clutched onto it, twisted off the cap, and took a few hardy sips. 

Keith reached over and took the bottle from him before the waitress could come back from telling the kitchen staff what Lance just did. “Right, so, what club are we going to?” he asked, looking between the three fiends. He was prepared to bash all of their heads in with this monstrous bottle.

“It’s across the city, but we started early so I guess it doesn’t matter when we leave,” Acxa said. “We asked Thace and Ulaz if they wanted to come, but they ditched mid-pregame.”

“Wait, how long have you guys been going? It’s barely even six,” Keith said, and Ezor giggled from beside him. 

Lance sipped his sake from that point on, and when it came time to leave, Keith found himself glancing at a new text from Shiro and wondering whether or not he’d want to come with them. He glanced at Lance, who was flirting with Ezor. Acxa flicked him in the side of the head and walked off with Ezor’s hand in her’s. Lance rubbed at his hair where Acxa hit him and pouted at Keith.

“Hey—do you think Shiro would want to come?” Keith asked.

“Sure, I dunno,” he said, shrugging. He flung his arm around Keith’s shoulders and said, “Ask him.”

While Keith went ahead and texted Shiro, Lance’s heart started to flutter at the thought the three of them on the dancefloor. Keith’s heart was already soaring, even before he got a straight answer back.

  
  


**Keith:** Hey what’re you doing tonight?

**Shiro:** Nothing in particular. Why?

**Keith:** I’m going with Lance and The Girl Squad to that new club in Lakeview. Wanna come with?

You just missed pregaming so I think you’re in the clear

**Shiro:** I’m kinda in the middle of something right now.

But when you are guys going? Might be able to make it.

**Keith:** Literally leaving in Zeth’s car rn

**Shiro:** Shit well I’ll be late then

**Keith:** See ya there ;)

  
  


Shiro grinned down at his phone as the nurse at the other side of the desk finished up filling out slots on the computer screen. He pinched his lower lip between his fingers and glanced at the box packaged on the desk just out of his reach.

“Alright,” she said, sending the form off. She pulled up a packet of paper and slid a pen over to him. “You just need to sign off here, and initials here, here, and there. And… you’ve already gone through training?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, well, then we can remove this and… that should do it. No copay, just this for now. You’re given a one year warranty so if anything goes wrong within that first year, the cost of fixing it is completely free.”

His chest ached from how fast his heart beat against his ribcage. The nurse allowed him to be the first to unveil the prosthetic, and though he’d done this a hundred times before with Pidge, he couldn’t help but feel the nerves of ruining it. He was so terrified of breaking it that he insisted the nurse help him put it on before leaving. He’d be able to worry about his nerves later when he’d have to take it off to sleep.

Together, they rolled up the skin-colored sleeve over his elbow. The hand was fitted perfectly for him—a reflection of his good hand, and so much more. He tested the functions on the pad before clipping the sensor to the back of his ear. 

The nurse checked it for him, and they gave it a test-handshake. “You’re awful adept at this,” she commented with a smile. “I’ve heard it’s difficult to get a handle on it.”

“‘Hand’le,” he repeated, folding the fingers in on his prosthetic. She laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Is this it then?”

“Yeah, just about. Come back if you have any problems with it, alright?” she said and waved him off as he took the box with him. 

Shiro pushed the door open when his new hand, and exited out into the parking lot shortly thereafter. He couldn’t stop staring at it as he walked across the pavement. He’d only ever used it in the comfort of the yoga room at the gym. And now? He could use it everywhere. He could take it with him  _ anywhere _ .

He placed the box on the passenger’s seat and buckled up. He checked his phone one last time before starting up the car and opening up directions to get to the nightclub where Keith and Lance were currently ruining their dignity. 

Shiro didn’t go to clubs all that often, at least not until he met Keith. Every now and then they’d go out on one of their off-nights and Shiro would chaperone Keith. He gave up drinking before he met Keith, but the thought was tempting. He was just too paranoid to lose control of himself and become a bother, though.

He got drunk on occasion with Keith, but those nights were few and far between. Usually, it was for no good reason other than to unwind on a particularly stressful day, and the two of them would get wasted in the apartment and watch stupid shows on Netflix, and end in sex.

He parked down the street from the club and twisted his hands around. It was fluid, and though he could depend on it, he worried over it incessantly. He looked out onto the street and sighed. This wasn’t a small thing to worry about, but he wished he would have had the good sense to go home before this and drop it off there. He rolled his eyes and groaned, and reached behind his seat to grab a blanket. He wrapped the box with the tablet up and secured it away in the glovebox. 

The prosthetic would stay with him.

Besides, he was thrilled to show it off at long last. He didn’t care if Pidge would have a hernia, finding out that his first outing with his prosthetic was to a club. She could cry about it later.

There wasn’t a significant line at the door—it was a Monday night, after all, so Shiro was able to escape the cold quicker, and the price at the door was definitely cheaper than it could have been on a busy weekend. He texted Keith as he waited in the foyer, but gave up a minute later to wander in and see what the commotion was about. 

The bass lulled through the walls and across the floor and reverberated through Shiro’s chest as he wandered down an aisle flanked on either side by tables surrounded by white leather booths. Changing color lights flickered around them, shifting the white from blue to green to red with the pace of the music. He searched for Keith and Lance among the crowds of people that accumulated on the other side of the hall. He didn’t have any luck until he reached the dance floor because  _ of course that’s where they would be _ .

The outskirts of the dance floor were raised up where the bar curved around the archway entrance and to the seating area. He stood with his hands pocketed in his leather jacket and smiled over the crowd of people chanting to the lyrics. A wave of fog rolled out over them, and as it cleared, Shiro saw Lance among them, head thrown back, eyes closed, and smile oh-so worth it.

He had his back to Keith, a hand pushed through Keith’s hair as he rolled his hips to the beat. Keith was smiling like he meant it, hands flat against Lance’s hipbones, and fingers trailing dangerously close to Lance’s crotch as the crowd started to converge on them again, closing the view off to Shiro just in time for him to realize that he’d been staring.

_ I can’t go through this sober _ , he thought, rubbing a hand over his chest as he turned away and headed for the bar. His heart was still fluttering in his chest, and he felt lightheaded as he flagged the bartender down and asked for a gin and tonic.

He finished off most of it before feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket. A message from Keith reading, “ _ I see you over there—come say ‘hi’ already. _ ”

He looked up from the bar and turned, leaning against the edge of it as he searched for Keith and Lance again. At last, he caught Keith’s eyes, washed over in purple light that strobed into red as Shiro lifted his drink to his lips with one hand, and waved with the other.

Keith’s jaw dropped, and Shiro swore he heard him scream. Lance turned to Keith, and then followed Keith’s frantic pointing to where Shiro was. 

Lance made it to him first, seeing as Keith was in heels and struggling to break through the crowds of people. 

“Holy shit! Holy shit, dude, your hand! When did you—? What the fuck?!” he shrieked, and Shiro laughed, setting his glass aside so Lance could take hold of his wrist and yank it forward.

“Whoa, careful. I don’t really plan on testing its limits today. I was just signing the papers for it before coming over here,” Shiro said, grinning as Keith finally arrived to see it for himself. “I’ve already gone through all the training for it. Pidge has been helping me.”

“No shit,” Keith laughed. “I can’t fuckin’... Oh my God, this is so great, Shiro! I’m so happy for you!”

He reached over to give Shiro a side-hug and promptly stole the hand from Lance to see it for himself. Shiro turned pink at the ears, not that any of them could tell, especially when the lights were going crazy like that. Lance badgered him with questions, and he tried to answer most of them before realizing that Lance was leaning on him and slurring his words, and giggling like an absolute maniac.

“Ezor challenged him to sake shots,” Keith explained.

“Did not! I took  _ one _ ,” Lance said.

“You’re not supposed to… do that,” Shiro said, raising an eyebrow as Lance grew flustered and groaned at them all. Keith laughed, still holding onto Shiro’s hand. 

“How’s it feel, though?” Keith asked over the music. He turned over Shiro’s hand and dragged his fingers over Shiro’s knuckles. Even though Shiro couldn’t feel it, the action had his heart racing all over again.

“Good. Not quite natural yet, but… eventually,” he promised.

Keith moved Shiro’s hand and clasped it onto Lance’s shoulder. “Well, I don’t know about you two, but my feet are starting to hurt. I’m not used to club dancing.”

“You dance all day, though,” Lance said, but Keith was already pushing them to the steps. 

“You two dance! I’ll be over here finishing Shiro’s drink.”

“I paid for that,” Shiro said.

“And I’ll pay for the next,” he said and tipped the gin and tonic towards them both before downing the rest himself. Shiro turned away, clearing his throat as Lance stood, lost, on the steps.

“I’ll… show you where Zeth and the others are,” Lance said, and it came out high-pitched. 

As they headed for the crowd, Shiro leaned in and could feel a shudder go down Lance’s spine. “We don’t have to dance together. I think Keith’s just teasing us.”

“Well, if he’s gonna tease us I say we should tease him,” Lance said and moved Shiro’s prosthetic to his hip. 

Shiro rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hide his smile. “Remind me never to conspire with you when you’re drunk,” he said, but he was already letting Lance lure him into the melody. 

Keith pushed himself onto the stool, and when Shiro and Lance became distracted with one another, he grinned to himself and pulled the new drink towards him. He tipped it to his lips and watched as Lance turned away from Shiro and pulled Shiro’s hands onto his hips. Keith swallowed down the alcohol as his eyes focused on that  _ fucking spectacular prosthetic _ . 

_ Damn, Pidge really knows how to make ‘em _ , he thought, and swallowed again, this time to clear the knot in his throat as his eyes followed the curve of Lance pushing his hips back into Shiro’s like he  _ knew _ just how to drive Keith mad.

It’s because he did.

When his eyes drifted up, he caught sight of Lance looking directly at him as he reached back, dragging his hand up the side of Shiro’s thigh. At that moment, Keith realized that his plan to get Shiro and Lance to dance was  _ seriously _ backfiring. He didn’t expect Lance to catch on so soon, and look like he really  _ meant it _ .

Shiro pushed forward, leaning his shoulders back as Lance pressed his weight into Shiro’s broad chest and let the two of them roll to the beat. Their expertise was a welcome change to the raunchy dancing happening around them, and a couple started to clap nearby and cause Shiro to fluster and hesitate until excited shouts rose up from farther off. Keith looked and found Ezor scrambling between people to reach them, and to grab Shiro by the arm. 

_ Oh no _ , Keith thought, hand over his face as Ezor thrust them into one of Shiro’s choreographed routines that the team knew from even before Keith was there.

Each push and pull of the beat, and of their feet across the dancefloor, people parted, and Ezor’s body moved like echoes over the crowd of people gasping in amazement and chanting the lyrics. Shiro’s movements were refined for someone who didn’t spend every waking moment dancing like the rest of them. But… even with his fluid background in ballet, hip-hop came naturally, and the jerk of mechanical movements showed in his muscles after he shed his jacket, and let the gathering crowd see his biceps flex, and his robotic fist punch the air.

He wove his upper body to the left, and Ezor curled to the right, and they beamed at one another before the beat kicked in again. Their hips rolled towards one another before swaying away from one another, laughing as the crowd clapped and cheered for more.

Lance folded Shiro’s jacket over his arm as Keith showed up beside him, squeezing between groups of people to get there. 

“I—I didn’t know he could…” Lance said, voice faltering at the end as Shiro looked over at them. Keith was certain his legs were about to give out, so he grabbed hold of Lance to keep himself upright. 

“What? Dance?” he asked, and Lance nodded mutely. “You know he makes the choreography with Lotor.”

“I knew that!” Lance cried. “I just… I don’t know why but—”

Shiro was walking up to them then, and Lance scrambled to get ahold of himself as Shiro reached out towards him. Lance looked at his outstretched hand and looked at Keith.

“My jacket,” he said.

“Oh! Oh, here you go,” Lance said, thrusting the leather jacket back to him. “I need a drink.”

“You’re already drunk,” Keith said.

“That… isn’t going to stop me.” Lance sauntered off to the bar. It left Keith with Shiro and the drink in his hand as an offering.

He held it out to Shiro and said, “For stealing the rest of your  _ tonic _ .”

“There was alcohol in that,” Shiro said, pouting. “And I really shouldn’t drink anymore.”

“I’m not gonna attempt to pressure you, but… it won’t hurt. And I’m not drinking anymore tonight. Zeth and the others came smashed anyways and  _ someone’s _ gotta watch out for Lance,” he said, gesturing to the bar where Lance was slumped over someone’s chair, chatting with the strangers (or are they all just potential friends? That’s what Lance wanted to know).

When he turned back, Shiro offered a small, but confident smile, and raised the glass to him before tipping it back. 

“Just hope that I know how to drive your car,” Keith said, and Shiro laughed and shoved him in the shoulder. “Would you… want to dance?” 

The question had Shiro looking back down at him. He tried to maintain eye contact, but he could feel his face heat up just before the fog machine was turned on. White clouds spilled over their faces, and they both leaned into one another and laughed over the blaring music and the fog.

“Sure, we can dance,” Shiro said, and as they passed Ezor and the others, he handed Ezor the empty glass and earned an encouraging thumbs up in response.

Keith held on to Shiro’s shoulder as the music pushed in on them, and the people around them started pumping their fists in the air and jumping to the beat. Keith leaned into Shiro’s chest as someone nudged him from behind, and smiled weakly up at him. Despite the nerves and all that came with being around Shiro again, Keith was surprised by how quickly he recovered, and how much  _ fun _ it was just to jump to the music. Forget about choreography—throwing his arms around meaninglessly was exactly how tipsy Keith wanted to spend his evening, and by God he was going to do it.

They jumped with the crowd, facing the speakers and the glaring lights as they flashed and fanned out overhead. It caught on the fog rolling out over them, filtering through and casting a yellow and red glow over their smiles. Shiro held his hand up, hovering it over Keith’s back as the music shifted. Keith didn’t waste a second as people partnered up, and he moved Shiro’s hand to his waist.

A shudder went down his spine as Shiro moved his other hand on his own, resting over Keith’s abdomen. He wondered if Shiro could feel his breath hitch when Shiro leaned over and asked, “Is this all right?”

“Yeah!” he shouted over the music. 

_ I can’t believe we’re doing this _ , Keith’s brain screamed, abruptly giddy with excitement. He could only imagine what was going on in Shiro’s mind the first time he brushed his hips up against Shiro’s, and intentionally rubbed his ass against Shiro’s crotch. 

The instant Keith opened his eyes and caught sight of Lance coming towards them, he reached his hand out and grabbed Lance by the arm. He pulled Lance forward, grinning devilishly as he pressed his mouth to Lance’s and kissed the sour vodka off his lips.

Lance turned giggly and leaned into Keith, forehead pressed to his shoulder. He stretched his arms up and hooked his wrists on Shiro’s shoulders, leaning back enough to see both Shiro and Keith watching him sway from the drunkenness instead of the music.

“You’re ridiculous,” Keith snorted, arms around Lance’s waist as he continued to sway into Shiro. He loved the sensation of Shiro’s hands on his hips, and Lance’s chest against his own.

“You’re the  _ best _ ,” Lance slurred, lips mere centimeters from Keith’s. “I’m…  _ so _ happy—”

He pried Shiro’s hand off of Keith to hold it up. “Shiro has a  _ hand _ ,” he said, and both Shiro and Keith laughed. Keith would have continued if the feeling of Shiro’s chest vibrating against his back didn’t turn him  _ completely _ on. 

_ Shit _ . 

“I heard you tried sake for the first time,” Shiro said, and Lance pushed into Keith to shove Shiro’s hand into Shiro’s face. They were giggling while Keith turned pink from being wedged between them. 

“Shuddup! I know I did it wrong,” Lance whined. “They’ve been making fun of me ever since!”

“Probably deserved it.”

“Did not!”

“You… sorta do,” Shiro laughed, scratching his jaw with the hand Lance was still holding onto by the wrist.

_ I’m going to hell _ , Keith thought, face pressed up against Lance’s. 

_ Well, if you’re going to hell, might as well make the most of it _ , he thought, just before rubbing the front of his jeans against Lance’s.

Lance squeaked, pulling back a bit before snickering and doing the same. The wound up seeing who could thrust the hardest and were stopped by Shiro holding Keith’s hips still. It just caused Lance to ram into both of them and send them staggering into a group of people behind them. Keith cursed and grabbed onto Lance to keep him from writhing around, but it was too late. He was a phone, and he was set to vibrate.

“Lemme go…! I wanna dance!” Lance whined. “Keith, dance with me.”

“No way, dance with Shiro,” Keith said.

“You’re just saying that cuz you wanna watch us dance together,” he pouted, and Keith rolled his eyes to keep from facing the truth of the matter. 

“I bet Ezor would do another routine if you asked her,” Shiro said, and an instant later, Lance bolted out of Keith’s hands like a cat shimmying out of a collar and booking it. Keith tried to grab onto the back of his shirt, but he was already gone. 

Keith sighed, turning back to Shiro with a smile. When he did, Shiro brought his eyes back up from wherever they were wandering.

“What are you looking at?” Keith asked, grinning cheekily.

“Just you,” he said. He laughed at Keith’s smirk and added, “It’s just that… every time we went clubbing together, you went all out on your outfits. Didn’t have time?”

“More like no warning. Lance and I were out eating dinner when Ezor called,” he explained.

“So you and Lance? How’s that going?” he asked, and Keith couldn’t help but think that it was a loaded question. At least, he hoped it was. He wished he could gauge where he and Shiro stood now, especially with Lance.

“Really good, yeah. You should… hang out with us some time,” he said, but the words were nearly lost in the electric music pulsing around them. Shiro caught it, though, and stuck his hands in his pockets.

“I don’t want to get in your way, though. I’m afraid of pissing Lance off,” Shiro confessed, and they started to walk away from the thick of things, and towards the booths. On the way, they stopped at the bar and flagged the bartender down.

“You aren’t in our way,” Keith said. “I think Lance still really likes you. He couldn’t be mad at you.”

“I still don’t… want to push anything, you know? And you two are so close already—I don’t want to be the one to ruin that,” he insisted, lifting up the drink the woman passed over to him. He sipped on it and said, “But this isn’t exactly the conversation for a club.”

“I think… Lance gets it though. That I still have feelings for you, and so does he,” Keith said, and Shiro looked away, rolling his eyes. “How’s that for an ego boost?”

“Let’s not talk about this right now,” he said, and Keith snickered, nudging him in the arm and moving along. “This is a night to have fun—we can talk about the serious stuff some other time.”

“Bet you wanna have fun with Lance and I both.” Keith teased just before the bartender showed up with their drinks.

Shiro flushed up to his ears. The thought had never crossed his mind, but now that it was there… 

Keith smirked knowingly over the rim of his glass and winked. Shiro took an evasive sip of his own drink and turned back to the dancefloor, watching Ezor and Lance tear it up. 

_ Handclap _ was blaring through the club—the upbeat, show-tune-esque song running over the two of them as they ran through a routine. It was from one of the themed weekends they did and the way Lance moved was entrancing, even next to Ezor the Body Roll Queen at Daibazaal. Shiro couldn’t help but feel his eyes linger on Lance as he danced with his friends, making him oblivious to Keith watching him the same way. And when Lance could, he was catching Shiro’s and Keith’s gaze as he owned the dancefloor with Ezor.

From the other side of the club, Acxa and Zethrid were watching, sipping at their drinks as they caught their breaths and watched their two more hyperactive friends dance like maniacs. Acxa shook her head and sighed. 

“They all just need to hook up,” she muttered, downing her shot.

“A-fucking-men to that, girl,” Zethrid agreed. “The heart-eyes are flying all over the place when any of them are in the same room anymore.”

“Shiro just needs to get boned again.”

Zethrid snorted and gasped in pain when it went through her nose. She coughed, thumbing her chest as Acxa cackled and slammed Zethrid on the back with her fist.

“Fucking hell, Acxa!”

Her friend raised an eyebrow and gestured at Keith’s and Shiro’s booth. “They’re literally staring at each other all the fucking time, and since Lance found out, he’s been pissed at Shiro, Shiro is too fucking nice to stand up for himself, and Lance is just as fucking nice about not making a big deal of it. Keith—fuck, don’t get me started, he’s playing them like the dancefloor.”

The whole time Acxa was ranting, Zethrid’s jaw steadily dropped. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say so much in one breath…” she breathed. 

Acxa snarled at her and ordered another round of shots for them. 

The night wore on and eventually, Keith and Shiro wandered back onto the dancefloor after more than a few rounds of drinks. (You wouldn’t think that Shiro had a competitive streak but after the first two drinks? It was enough to run Keith for his money.) Lance immediately sought them out as Ezor left to find her own girlfriend. The three of them danced and drank and danced some more, and before they knew it, they were piling into Shiro’s car with Keith at the wheel to head to Lance’s place.

Needless to say, Acxa was right about one thing… the three of them  _ really _ needed to get together.


	20. { spend the nights with you }

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sexy times ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sarah: SORRY sorry SORRY FOR THE LATE UPDATE More in the notes.

 

 

Lance could feel everything from the clothes on his skin to the hand on his hip and the eyes on his lips. He wondered if he looked okay—mouth open or closed? Where should his eyes be? He took the scenic route over the line of Shiro’s fine facial hair cast in the shadow of his defined cheekbones, and the street lights flickering over them in the backseat. 

“I see you… watch during some of my performances,” Lance said, pursing his lips as he blinked and looked away, trying unsuccessfully to look coy. He was awful at playing coy these days. Keith ruined his patience for it.

“I can’t help it. Lotor gives the cute ones star rolls,” Shiro said, and laughed as Lance blushed. 

“Is Keith included in this?”

“Yeah, it’s… kind of implied,” he laughed, licking his lips. Lance realized he was staring at them again. 

Lance giggled, tipping his head back against the cushions. He could feel his brain swishing in his skull as he kicked his foot against the back of the driver’s seat.

“Hear that? He called you cute.”

“Funny, I remember telling you not to call me that,” Keith said, turning the car sharply so that Lance fell into Shiro again. Shiro steadied him with that  _ killer _ sci-fi hand that made Lance’s heart do funny things. 

Lance took it off of his shoulder, and just as Shiro was about to apologize, Lance tugged his fingers out and flattened them against the seat. He lifted Shiro’s pointer finger out and, promising himself he wouldn’t think too much about it, he laid a kiss to the mechanical pad. 

“You like it?” Shiro said, and Lance’s eyes focused on Shiro’s face again. Shiro had a soft smile on his lips, amused until Lance licked up the length of Shiro’s finger, and pulled it all into his mouth. 

He closed his eyes and lathed his tongue over Shiro’s finger as he slid it out with a  _ pop _ .

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Shiro hissed. “I can’t even feel it, but that was…”

“I heard that. Save some for me,” Keith said, and Lance beamed giddily, and dissolved into laughter as Shiro tried to recover before Keith put the car in park.

Shiro was out of the car before Lance could even blink. A moment later, his door opened, and Shiro leaned in. 

“Need help?” he asked, and Lance fake-pouted and reached out for him. 

“Carry me…”

“This is what I have to deal with,” Keith said, hands on his hips as he watched from the gate while Shiro reached in and indulged Lance’s desire to be held. Lance put his arms around Shiro’s neck and breathed in the smell of Shiro’s cologne mingling with salty sweat.

Shiro carried Lance to the door as Keith worked on unlocking it. The moment they escaped the cold, Lance kicked his shoes off and sent them flying onto the brand new table addition. Keith ducked to avoid getting hit, and turned as Shiro took the last step down, grinning as Lance tried to look innocent, and failed.

Keith hurried back up the steps why they tooled around trying to figure out how to get Lance’s coat off while still in Shiro’s arms. He locked, unlocked, and locked the door again, and turned on the kitchen light for good measure. 

Lance shrieked at the light, yelling, “The sun!”

“Fuck off, it’s just the kitchen light,” Keith said. 

“Bedroom light?” Lance said. 

“Oh, no, I’ll just—” Shiro started, tipping Lance onto his feet before awkwardly gesturing to the door. Keith was blocking the steps, though.

“Fuck no, you’re drunk, Lance is drunk, and there’s a reason I stayed sober for all this shit,” Keith said, and pointed sharply to Shiro to say, “You’re staying the night. I don’t trust you in your car right now.”

“Sexy,” Lance said.

“Oh my God,” they both moaned, and as their eyes rolled and focused on one another, they blushed and looked away.

“Come on, I just stuck your finger in my mouth,” Lance complained, slapping his hands down.

“Speaking of which, I’d really like to see that. My eyes were kind of on the road…” Keith said, marching down to where Shiro squinted at him.

Shiro cleared his throat, hands on his hips as he walked away from the door. “Right, well,  _ we _ are fucking  _ talking about this  _ in the morning,” he said, wiggling his finger in Keith’s direction before turning it to Lance. 

“Fucking? Talking? My two favorite things,” Lance said, sauntering over with a devilish smile on his face as he reached for Shiro’s wrist and pulled his prosthetic closer. 

Lance pulled two of Shiro’s fingers straight, and pressed them to his bottom lip. He coaxed his mouth open, watching Shiro as Keith stepped up form the corner of his vision. He was too drunk to bother hiding his smug smile as he licked his tongue out and let Shiro press his fingers to it and dip inside.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Keith hissed.

“I know,” Shiro said, and looked over at Keith, who was staring at Lance until then. Keith looked up at him, and swallowed hard. Shiro watched his Adam’s apple bob, and trailed his eyes past Keith’s messy hair, straightened with sweat from dancing at the club. Everything he wanted to say, about the both of them, about how incredible it was to see them dancing and to dance  _ with them _ —it was all stuck in his throat where he struggled to breathe again.

He leant forward, and pushed his lips against Keith’s. He tasted the salt of their sweat mixing, and relished in the gasp Keith let out. He felt it down through Keith’s chest, pressed against his, and how Keith held onto his waist with desperate hands…

“Whoa,” Lance said, sounding absolutely  _ wrecked _ after screaming the lyrics to songs they all knew at the club.

Keith grabbed blindly for Lance and, the moment he had hold of Lance’s shirt, he reached up to clutch at Lance’s jaw. He pulled away from Shiro just to kiss Lance roughly, and hiss against his lips:

“You two  _ owe me _ . I thought you were gonna fucking vomit at the restaurant,” he said, pushing Lance away and towards the bedroom. He turned on Shiro. “You—get in there.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, pressing his hand to his chest. The look on his face had Keith hesitating. “Tell me if this is too much.”

Lance stopped in the doorway, hand still clutching Keith’s. 

“This is fine. I trust you guys,” Keith said, grabbing Shiro by the shirt and heaving him to the bedroom. “Only condition is that  _ I’m _ in charge here.”

“Aye, aye, captain!” Lance said, and Keith snarled at him as he prowled closer. Lance turned into a puddle of giggles as Keith pushed him down onto the mattress on the floor. Lance bounced up, laughing as he unzipped his jacket and shed it. Keith tugged his heels off and threw them to where the kitchen light streamed in past the shadow Shiro cast. Their clothes flew over the floorboards, and once Keith was in his underwear, he turned to Shiro with a look of raw determination on his face.

He tugged on the lapels of Shiro’s leather jacket, and swiped the zipper down in one fluid movement. Shiro didn’t so much as budge until Keith forced it off of his shoulders, and slid it down his bicep. 

“Off,” Keith demanded.

Shiro smiled and did as he was told. He grabbed his shirt hem with one hand and maneuvered it off, sliding it down the length of his prosthetic sleeve, and tossing it aside. Lance interrupted him with a rolling purr, and Shiro’s momentary composure broke into laughter.

He tipped towards the bed, and collapsed onto it beside Lance, still laughing as Keith pried Lance’s skinny jeans right off. Lance grabbed onto Shiro to keep from being dragged off the bed, and giggled incessantly before Keith prowled over him and silenced him with a kiss.

Lance moved languidly, and the soft speed at which he kissed Keith back had Keith’s mind reeling. He pulled them up farther onto the mattress, and the hand he used to steady himself fell between Shiro’s legs as he forced Lance to pick up the pace. Drunk or not, he knew Lance would follow along with whatever pace Keith set. 

Lance’s hand pressed against Keith’s hair, fingers threading through it before clutching and pulling Keith closer still. Keith felt the heat of Lance’s chest. The perspiration on his skin made pushing Lance to the bed so much sweeter when he could taste the salt of sweat on the fingertips he licked before pressing them to the bulge in Lance’s underwear. He heard Lance hiss through his teeth, panting as Keith pulled his lips away with a satisfyingly wet kiss. The saliva fell cold on his lip. 

He felt Shiro stir beside him, his stationary hand still caught between Shiro’s legs. Shiro’s pant leg brushed against his wrist as he followed Lance’s gaze to where Shiro leaned to press his lips to Lance’s sweaty hair. He was slow, hesitant, and glanced over at Keith for permission. When Keith said nothing—chest heaving from the way his adrenaline raced, and his lungs struggled to catch up—Shiro pushed his hand over Keith’s, and hooked his prosthetic thumb against the hem of Lance’s boxers. 

His prosthetic fingers were still cold from lingering outside, but they were soft, and sent a shudder over Lance’s clammy skin as he cursed under his breath. Shiro’s cologne spun Lance’s mind onto a foggy track of euphoria, and with Keith over him, reminding him that  _ this was actually happening _ , he pushed his head back against the pillows and swore again that they’d be the death of him.

Lance reached for Shiro’s belt, and with clumsy, but swift fingers, he undid it and yanked it out of the pant loops. Shiro jerked forward at the action, laughing, and helped Lance undo his zipper. 

“Let’s take it slow,” Shiro said, but Keith was on board with Lance, and wound up accidentally yanking Shiro’s underwear down with his jeans, down to his knees where they dug into the mattress. “So much for that.”

“You know I’ve always been impatient,” Keith said, but he was still breathless and losing air fast as he forced his eyes to travel up past the ridges of Shiro’s abdomen to his toned pecs. He couldn’t bring himself to look any further—it’d been too long since he last saw Shiro so exposed.

“Aw, don’t you two look so cute,” Lance crooned from below them, and it caused both Shiro and Keith to look back down to him and the fact that they both had their hands over Lance’s crotch. 

“Don’t you start with me,” Keith laughed, and yanked his boxers down. Lance yelped, giggling as he lifted his knees up and tugged them together, sliding his boxers down his long, brown legs. 

Lance instinctively pushed his hand over his crotch, groaning as he tried to sit up and was promptly pushed down by Keith leaning over him. He kissed Lance’s glistening chest and licked a line up his sternum. Lance arced his back, muttering incomprehensible, drunk words under his breath as Keith licked all along Lance’s throat with a delighted hum. He was hooked on the salty taste of Lance’s skin and couldn’t stop—

Shiro pushed his hand over Keith’s exposed abdomen. A shiver coursed through Keith, and he reached a hand back to feel for Shiro kneeling there, leaning lightly over him. 

“Tell me what to do,” he whispered against the back of Keith’s neck. Keith stared down at Lance’s throat, and how he swallowed hard at the sight of the two of them leaning down over him. 

“Touch him,” Keith said, lips wet on Lance’s skin as Shiro drew his hand down to Lance’s crotch and tugged on his hardening cock. 

Lance grunted, trying to push himself up. His hand grabbed onto Keith’s thigh, squeezing hard as Keith moved up, sitting on his stomach, boxers uncomfortably tight. He took Lance’s free hand and pushed it over the pillows.

Lance pushed the heels of his feet against the mattress as Shiro brushed his thumb over the head of his weeping cock. “ _ Fuck _ , fuck—K- Keith—Nightstand,” Lance bit out, hissing out a moan as Keith stretched over him and fumbled through their nightstand bullshit. He passed the lube and a condom wrapper to Shiro, holding Lance down with a hand flat to his chest. 

“You look so good like this,” Keith breathed, splaying his fingers wide. Lance managed a weak, snobbish smirk. 

“Do I now? That a compliment, smartass?” he said, and his smugness evaporated in the next second as he threw his head back against the pillows, grip bruising Keith’s thigh.

He felt more than saw Shiro trail his finger down the underside of his dick, slick with cool lube that seeped down the crack of his ass. Shiro angled his fingers down, and the teasing sensation had Lance shivering beneath Keith. The instant Shiro pushed inside, Lance bucked his hips and was surprised when Keith let him.

Keith lifted to his feet, stepping off the bed as Lance tried unsuccessfully to hold onto his leg. Keith looked down at him, biting his lip as Shiro hefted Lance’s leg up by the knee, pressing two fingers in. Lance clutched to the blankets instead, groaning, “ _ Keith _ , come on…”

“I want to watch Shiro do you,” he said, crossing his arms. He wouldn’t be able to keep his hands to himself otherwise. 

“Only if—” Shiro started, and Lance cursed, lifting up to pull Shiro forward by the shoulders.

“You have your finger up my ass—finish it,” he said, and Keith laughed as he walked around the end of the bed, and crawled up beside them. 

Lance lured Shiro over him, until he was slotted between Lance’s lifted knees, and he could feel the lube slick on his own hard cock. Hand still lubricated, he rubbed it over himself, and looked at Keith as he pressed the tip of it against Lance’s hole. Keith lifted his eyes up to Shiro’s, swallowing hard as he nodded, and watched Lance’s composure crumble when Shiro thrust inside.

Shiro seated himself up to the hilt, hooking his arm around Lance’s knee so as he leaned over, he opened Lance further. He saw Lance in action on stage—the guy could do the splits on the spot without a second thought, this was nothing. Lance clutched at his shoulder, and to where the sleeve of his prosthetic clung to him with sweat.

“You good?” Shiro asked, breathless.

“Fuck yeah,” Lance said, grinning. “When am I not?”

“Unbelievable,” Keith huffed, rolling his eyes as Shiro pulled his hips back and pushed forward. He set his thrusts short and quick, setting a rhythm that had Lance pushing back against the wall as they rocked the nonexistent bed frame with the intense speed they were used to. Lance swore obscenities to nothing in particular, his brain melting with each passing second he shut his eyes and opened them to where Keith was watching them at Shiro’s shoulder while Shiro plowed into him.

Keith pried off his boxers, relishing in the freedom of it, and squirted lube over his hand. He pulled at himself as he watched Lance’s hard cock bob with each thrust, and the breathy sounds of Lance’s incoherent whimpers and Shiro’s pants. After applying a condom, he climbed up behind Shiro, knees wedged between his as Shiro stuttered at the sensation of Keith’s wet hand over his ass. 

Keith pressed his lips to the nape of Shiro’s sweaty neck. He was too far gone for articulate kisses, and quietly asked if he was okay with this—with his fingers already practically in Shiro’s ass, that is. 

Shiro laughed, voice hoarse as he cleared it and said, “Do it—it’s been a while.”

“What, you never let Lance fuck you?” Keith asked, grinning as he saw Lance tip his head to the side, as if to see the action.

Shiro scoffed, shaking his head as he looked down and smiled. “Just do it,  _ smartass _ ,” he said, and Keith pushed his forehead to Shiro’s back, trying not to laugh as he pushed his finger inside Shiro’s tense, tight hole and worked him open.

Shiro pushed down to his elbows, grunting with the effort to stay still with his dick in Lance’s ass, and with Keith on top of him like that. He pushed his mouth against Lance’s exposed neck, and ground his hips forward, eliciting a pretty moan from the back of Lance’s throat. When he pushed his hips back again, it was against Keith’s cock. 

Keith pushed forward, slowly, easing inside. Shiro’s hair tickled Lance’s chin as he hunched over his torso, fists clenched in the sheets. He let go of Lance’s leg, and reflexively, he latched his heel against the first thing he could find—Keith’s hip, and  _ fuck _ , there was an entire hot body between them and it was  _ Shiro _ .

_ I can’t fucking believe this is happening _ , Lance gasped internally, throwing his head back as Keith pushed forward, and it spurred a domino effect that reached Lance in all the right places. 

“Oh, fuck, do that again,” Lance grunted, pushing up to his elbows as Keith thrust again, clutching to Shiro’s hips as he drove forward again, and again, and the sight alone was enough to push Lance to the edge. He felt as though he’d been there the entire way here, and it burst in a violent spasm of  _ Oh, fuck, I’m having a threesome with the two hottest guys I’ve ever met _ .

Lance swore he blacked out for a solid second there, and opened his eyes again to Shiro pushing his lips to Lance’s. He stole Lance’s gasp as he rode through Lance’s orgasm, pulling out only before his own with Keith thrusting into him from behind. 

Shiro pushed his prosthetic hand to the wall behind Lance, cursing as he came, a drop of sweat reaching Lance’s cheek as he watched, eyes wide, when Keith kept at it. The mattress creaked underneath them, and Lance felt it shift with every movement, bobbing unevenly when Keith hesitated, folding over Shiro, hand grappling for purchase when he worked through his climax.

Shiro’s arms shook, keeping himself up until Keith pulled out and knelt to the side. He pushed himself to his feet, and Shiro tipped to the side, spent. 

“ _ Fuck _ , holy shit,” he gasped, arm falling over Lance’s stomach as they both caught their breaths. 

Keith roused them both, though, already on his feet.

“I’m not letting you keep that condom on, you heathen,” Keith said to Shiro, plucking his own off and tying it. Shiro slumped off the bed, muttering curses under his breath about how tired he was. 

While they went off to the bathroom to clean up, Lance laid there, one hand still over his head, staring at the ceiling. It felt like his chest was on fire, and he blamed it on the two men now sharing his restroom. 

He was convinced that they were all going to hell, but he accepted it before the three of them even set foot in the apartment that night. Hell would be worth it if this is what it took to get there.

 

* * *

 

Waking up was definitely  _ not worth it _ .

Lance’s brain was set on fire sometime during unconsciousness, and it promptly woke him up the form of sunlight piercing his retinas with unfathomable fury. He groaned, pushing his hands against his swollen eye sockets. He sniffed and looked to the side, expecting to see Keith, and instead found Shiro with his head tipped close, forehead nestling Lance’s shoulder. His hair tickled Lance’s cheek, and he stared for a long moment before recognizing Keith’s tuft of black hair on Shiro’s other side. He was pushed up higher on the pillows so Lance could see the content way he breathed softly in his sleep. 

_ So… this is a thing _ , Lance thought, trying to blink his shock away. It didn’t work. For a moment there, he thought last night was just another wet dream of his. 

It wasn’t.

He turned away, brain sloshing in his Skull Fluids like his neurons were made of coal embers. He pulled away from Shiro, lifting the blankets so he could get up. Shiro stirred a little, and Lance looked back to find Shiro rubbing his eye. He had a red spot on his forehead where it was pressed to Lance’s shoulder.

“What time is it?” Shiro asked in a hoarse whisper, squinting up at Lance.

Lance stared for a second before realizing that Shiro was asking a legitimate question. He cleared his throat and looked for his phone. He found his jacket on the floor, shivering with the effort of walking through the cold in the nude.

“It’s… eleven twenty,” he said, and Shiro cursed, but didn’t seem all that inclined to move.

Shiro glanced behind him a tad, noticing that Keith was still asleep. He turned back to Lance, who tried not to smile at the sight. “Thanks for letting me stay the night,” Shiro whispered.

“Don’t even mention it,” Lance said, and cheekily winked and pushed his finger to his lips as he hurried to grab his clothes and duck into the bathroom for a shower. By the time he was gone, Shiro had already turned red and slapped a hand over his face.

When Lance emerged from the bathroom promptly half an hour later, he stepped into an empty bedroom, and the sound of quiet voices in the kitchen. Something was sizzling on the stove. It smelled like sweet chocolate and pancake batter, and Lance followed the scent to where Shiro was flipping pancakes onto a plate, and Keith stood by his side equipped with a brown sugar and chopped apple syrup to top them with. 

“Hey guys, how’s it going?” Lance said, wandering over as he scratched his head, and beamed at them. It  _ totally _ wasn’t like the three of them just had sex together last night— _ totally _ not the case.

“Shiro was just talking about how we should probably… talk,” Keith said, frowning at the idea. He poked absently at his pancake plate before passing it to Lance.

“I’m a bit too hungover for that right now. No thanks,” Lance sighed, but accepted the food, and a glass of water to top. He wandered over to the monstrous table they squeezed in to the right of the island counter, and took a seat with his legs pushed up. His calves were sore, and his ass didn’t exactly  _ hurt _ but he could  _ feel it in his muscles _ . Not only that, but his feet were shot from dancing the night before.

“After breakfast, then,” Shiro suggested.

“Breakfast never exactly solves my hangovers, buddy,” Lance said, pushing his forehead into the wood. “I feel like my insides are covered in gross green goo.”

Keith came to join him, and Shiro pushed the full plate of pancakes between them.

“I already ate, so I’m going to take a shower,” he said, and hesitated, eyeing Lance. “If… that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah, dude, by all means,” Lance said, waving his hand. His voice was scratchy, and Keith mentioned it as soon as Shiro was gone. Lance grinned fondly, even though his brain was hurting after everything. “How do you feel?”

“About what?” he asked, spearing his entire pancake like a heathen, and taking a bite off the floppy end. “Last night? I… thought it was fun. What about you?”

“Yeah, I was cool with it,” he confessed. “I was… kinda worried I went too far. Like, is having Shiro here weird for you?”

“No, I was kinda worried it’d be weird for you, considering…” Keith said, pursing his lips as they both looked at the direction Shiro disappeared off to. 

“It wasn’t weird. It was hot, and I don’t think that’s just drunk me talking because  _ aye-yai-yai _ —talk about me-time content,” Lance said, fawning himself. Keith laughed and punched him in the arm. 

“Fuck off, oh my  _ God _ ,” Keith snorted, throwing his head back laughing as Lance shimmied his shoulders suggestively.

“All my wet dreams came true in one night—”

“You’re the absolute worst, you know that?” he said, jabbing his fork at Lance before stabbing his pancake again. Watching Keith eat like that just increased Lance’s headache tenfold, and he groaned in annoyance as Keith folded the pancake in two and ate one end of it like a fucking taco. It was caveman-esque and needed to be ended.

Thankfully, though, Lance was saved two pancakes later by a knock on the door. Keith was closest and so he got up before he could grab another pancake to torment Lance with. Lance watched as he checked the window before looking at Lance with a curious, raised eyebrow.

“What? Who is it?” he asked, standing up.

“It’s our neighbor,” he said, and unlocked the door.

When Keith opened it, Lance peered over from the kitchen to where Blaytz stood out in the cold with that brilliant, neighborly smile on his face. 

“Good morning!” he said cheerfully. “I’ve just been stopping by everyone’s apartments because I made more gluten-free muffins last night than anticipated.”

“Oh! Um, well that’s thoughtful of you, handing them out,” Keith said, smiling weakly. 

Lance cleared his throat and waved from the side. “We just woke up but if you’d like to come in…?”

Blaytz seemed to like the idea. Soon, they had their neighbor Blaytz sitting at the wooden table. Lance made a plate of apple pancakes for him, and while Lance and Keith split a muffin, they ate in peaceful quiet.

“What’ve you got planned for today?” Lance asked Blaytz as he finished licking his fingers.

“After this I’m off to the gym. I teach an afternoon zumba class,” he explained, and Keith looked like he was about to fall off his chair. Lance smiled, but inside, he was dying.

“Zumba? Really?” he said. “I’ve never done it.”

“Think of yoga, but dancing,” Keith said, laughing a little as Blaytz clapped his hands together and declared it the perfect description.

“But enough about me—what have you two been up to? I see you’ve redecorated,” he said, glancing around the room, noting all of the new furniture. 

“It’s all my stuff—I’ve been holding onto it until I found a place with the room for it,” Keith explained, explaining how his old place came furnished and therefore made all of this extra stuff unnecessary.

“I’ve had similar issues with apartments around here,” Blaytz hummed, popping another piece of pancake into his mouth. “Since you two are eating breakfast at noon, I imagine it was a late night for you two? Working?”

“No. We went clubbing with a few friends,” Lance said, and described the setting—the new club on the northern side of Chicago, the wrap-around bar, the moshpit, the DJ. “I haven’t gone clubbing much, but I’ve always loved dancing like an idiot. So it was a lot of fun.”

“Reminds me of my college days,” Blaytz said, laughing. “And when it comes to hangovers, try a bloody mary.”

“I never feel like putting in the effort to mix drinks,” Lance moaned, tipping to the side so he could lean his head against his arm, and pout at them both. 

“Tell you what—I’ve got extra time and a bloody mary mix upstairs,” he said, and instantly Lance perked up.

While Blaytz hurried off to fetch the remedy, Keith gave Lance a what-the-hell-are-you-doing look. Lance shrugged guiltily, only to be reprimanded by, “I can’t believe you’re the type of person to cure hangovers with more alcohol.”

“It seems logical… When you think about it…” Lance moaned, twirling his finger around the wood grain. “And Blaytz offered to make it for me…”

Just then, the bathroom door opened, and Shiro stepped out scrubbing a towel over his hair. Lance blinked, alarmed, and looked to Keith, who seemed equally stuck.

“Ready to talk?” Shiro asked.

“Uh…” Lance started, but Keith outed him before he could out himself.

“Blaytz came over and left to make a bloody mary for this nitwit,” he said, pointing to Lance. Lance waved weakly, only to meet Shiro’s disappointment.

“Lance, no…” Shiro moaned.

“I never want to make them myself,” Lance insisted. “And Blaytz was really nice about it! It’ll be fine—he also made gluten-free muffins if you want one!”

Shiro squinted at it, and accepted it. He stepped back, mechanical hand on his hip as he inspected the muffin and took a small bite out of it. He wandered over to the kitchen just as Blaytz returned, knocking at the door again. Since Shiro was already up, he went to answer the door.

“Shiro! Surprise seeing you here,” Blaytz said, beaming at him. He clapped a hand on Shiro’s shoulder and passed him down the stairs. “Shouldn’t be too surprised, though. You all are just like me when I was in college. It’s almost like reliving the good ol’ days.”

“I—Well, I mean... Um. Okay,” Keith stammered uselessly, clutching a hand over his mouth as he stared wide-eyed at Lance. Lance looked like he was about to have a hernia, and thankfully, Shiro saved them all by letting out a hearty laugh as he followed Blaytz to the kitchen.

Lance swallowed hard and thought,  _ Well, there goes my sanity. _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok lemme just say that I am officially deceased creatively emotionally physically all of the above. And I hate having to post every other week now and it started as a good idea and now it's even difficult to reach those deadlines. Mogi and I talked about it and I think it's best we take a short break until we have a few backup chapters to work with. IDK how long that will be, but hopefully before April rolls around.
> 
> Also, this is a good point to break before a new subplot arises.... :D


	21. { what I need }

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio has a chat, they meet Blaytz' friends, and Lance is _always_ horny ;)

 

By the time Blaytz left their apartment to make it to the gym on time, Lance was feeling significantly better. He felt warm and fuzzy inside with Shiro across from him, and Keith sitting at the head of the table. It felt…  _ natural _ , and  _ real _ , and everything that made Lance’s heart hum in contentment. 

His heart fluttered and a delighted shiver ran up his spine at the memory of last night.

Shiro’s hair was still wet from the shower, strewn in a disarray as he cleared his throat, rubbing at the exposed skin where his prosthetic sleeve used to be. He glanced at Keith before speaking at all.

“I should apologize for getting drunk last night,” Shiro started, and instantly Keith was up in arms.

“Whoa, hey, you were fine. Honestly, Shiro,” he insisted, waving his hands dismissively at the idea. “And Lance and I talked about it briefly. We had fun last night. Everything that happened was fine with us, right?”

He looked to Lance, who nodded mutely. When he caught Shiro’s eyes, he couldn’t help but recognize the distress behind them. “You… regret it?” Lance said, and Shiro ducked his head.

“I don’t think I would have done it if I hadn’t been drunk,” he confessed, looking away from them as he scratched the side of his jaw, stubble and all. 

Keith’s shoulders slackened, and Lance realized why. Keith was hoping this was progress, not a setback, and it proved that they both had the same ideal in mind. Neither of them wanted Shiro to back out of this, but they couldn’t force something like  _ this _ on him.

“I just don’t want to intrude and cause problems. This isn’t exactly a  _ normal _ couples’ pastime,” Shiro said with a hollow laugh, scoffing as he turned to stand. He pulled his mug with him, and went to the pot of coffee on the counter. 

“I never thought of it as intruding,” Keith insisted. “And we aren’t  _ normal _ , in case you forgot.”

“Yeah, but how can you be okay with it?” Shiro snapped, voice raising. He turned to glare at Keith. “Why are you so insistent about this? And I hate to bring it up, but I know you don’t remember much from that night, but… I don’t want to trigger anything. Having sex with one person might not do it, but—”

“Fuck you,” Keith seethed, getting to his feet. “This is different. I told you—I trust  _ both of you _ . There’s a  _ huge _ difference.”

“Whoa, hey, can we maybe not talk about this?” Lance squeaked, and Keith relaxed, pinching his mouth shut and shoving himself back into his chair. Shiro went back to pouring coffee. “Look, Shiro, I get that you’re worried about Keith, but… he can handle himself? And last night worked fine, even if we were a bunch of idiots. And if you’re so worried about it, we can just keep it like that—with Keith in charge.”

“You say that like it’ll happen again,” Shiro said.

“I mean…” Lance started, rolling his eyes. “I wouldn’t be  _ opposed _ .” 

Shiro hesitated, glancing at Lance as he bit his lip and tried to look innocent, but it was difficult to do that when he touched two dicks in one night and neither of them were his own.

“Okay, I’m on board too, then,” Keith said. “Shiro?”

Shiro sighed, but the corners of his mouth tipped upwards. He wandered over to the table, coffee in hand, and took a long sip before deciding anything drastic.

“If we do this, we need to set up boundaries,” he said, and Lance slapped his hands on the table in excitement.

“Boundaries” were more or less for the sake of their sanity and overall stamina. If it were up to Lance, every night would be a fucking orgy and neither Shiro nor Keith were prepared to handle that level of intensity. After the holidays, they’d be back to work, and couldn’t exhaust their energy because of it. 

It was a safeguard against anything that might trigger Keith. They decided to play it safe—Keith would call all the shots, and Shiro and Lance weren’t picky. They were fine with whatever Keith wanted. Lance could tell just from the look on Keith’s face, perched at the end of the table, that he was proud of himself for being in charge. 

They made a list of things that were against the rules. 

Shiro pulled a pad of paper out of one of the drawers and started to write in pen, “ _ Bondage _ ” but Lance moaned and groaned until Shiro said, “You don’t even  _ own _ anything like that.”

“I know, but I think it’d be fun,” Lance said, pouting his lips and giving Shiro puppy-eyes until Keith rolled his eyes and grabbed the pen and paper. 

“‘No… bondage… for Keith,’” he said aloud as he wrote. As he tapped the pen against his chin, he came up with another thought, and added, “ _ or gags _ ” to that point.

“No three-person shower sex,” Shiro said, and Lance tried to argue against it, but Keith raised an eyebrow at him.

“You  _ really _ want to risk a broken leg?” he said, and Lance supposed he didn’t, and so he let Shiro put that on the list.

“What about two-person shower sex?” Lance pouted, and Shiro and Keith shrugged. “Cool.”

“Oh my God,” Keith sighed, slapping a hand over his face as Lance giggled triumphantly.

“I don’t want to get in the way of anything, so let’s say… I can only stay the nights Mondays and Tuesdays?” Shiro suggested, and Keith shrugged. 

“So are those our designated sexy nights?” Lance said, laughing. 

Keith turned to Shiro. “Dude, if you stay the night we don’t have to  _ do _ anything.”

“Cuddles and stuff,” Lance said, sliding his arms over the counter. He tipped his head against them, and Shiro watched him all the way before turning his raised eyebrows up to Keith. 

“Fine. But no sex outside of Monday or Tuesday—Sunday’s up in the air,” he declared, and put it down on the paper. 

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Keith agreed. “Condoms?”

They all hesitated. Sure, they used condoms the night before, but they never thought if it was  _ actually  _ necessary. Lance was too drunk to bother arguing it.

“It… makes cleanup easier,” Lance started with a shrug.

“Yeah, but we’ll have to clean the sheets twice a fucking week regardless,” Keith sighed. “And I’m clean. I had a lot of testing done after… all that.”

“My tests likely still stand from that time, too,” Shiro said. Lance pouted on the counter. “Let’s wait until you get tested to decide. Yeah?”

“Fine,” Lance sighed. “And the sheet situation?”

“We’ll rotate. I’ll wash the sheets today, Lance gets next time, and Shiro—?”

“Yeah, I don’t mind,” he said, and put it down on the list. “I have extras at home I can bring, too.”

As Keith and Shiro chatted on about it, Lance looked to the clock, and sighed. He had a while before Rosa was going to pick him up. He didn’t want to leave. He felt like if he did, he’d miss out on the sexy festivities. He also just didn’t want to leave Keith all alone at the apartment over Christmas, but his family was waiting for him. And he  _ loved _ their family Christmas feast—he looked forward to it every year. 

He silently promised to bring extras home for Keith and Shiro.

“—no bottoming for me. At least for now.”

“Okay, that makes sense,” Shiro said, and Lance blinked in alarm, straightening up as he watched Shiro write, “ _ Don’t let Keith bottom _ ”.

“For how long?” Shiro asked, looking up at Keith. 

“I… don’t know. Maybe first five times or something,” he said. “Last night counts.”

Shiro wrote the number five, crossed it out, and wrote a four beside it.

“Shiro, I didn’t know you liked taking it up the ass,” Lance said, and Shiro blanched, slapping a hand over his face as Keith cackled and slammed his fist on the counter. Keith threw his head back laughing.

“It’s—! I mean, I don’t  _ mind it _ , necessarily,” Shiro started, turning red. “I’ve only ever done it with Keith.”

“I’m an excellent top,” Keith boasted, hands on his hips. Lance shoved his arm, giggling uncontrollably.

“F- Fuck off! Oh my God, I can’t deal with you guys!” Lance groaned, putting his head on the counter as Keith wrapped his arms around him from behind, laughing into his shoulder. 

They joked around until Shiro got them back on track by asking what the verdict was on whether or not the club should know. Lance straightened up, and Keith kept his arms tight around Lance’s shoulders as he pursed his lips, brow tense.

“Zeth and the others saw us leave,” he said.

“Oh, shit, you’re right,” Lance gasped.

Keith squeezed him. “As if you’d know! You were a  _ mess! _ ”

“Okay, yeah, you’re right. But we could just tell ‘em we passed out as soon as we got here. I threw up a bunch—Keith, you pretend to be pissed at me for it, and… there we go! That’s our story,” Lance declared, drumming his hands on the counter.

Shiro lifted one of his perfectly manicured brows at him, and Lance couldn’t help but turn a little pink when Shiro so much as looked at him now because  _ for fuck’s sake _ all he could remember was Shiro, sweaty and hot on top of him with Keith watching from over his shoulder and—

_ Fuck _ .

“Fine, that works for me,” Shiro said. “We won’t let the club know about it. Which also means that I probably shouldn’t drive you guys everywhere all the time.”

“That’s okay. We don’t mind walking,” Keith said, fondly kissing Lance’s shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, I’m fine with that,” Lance sighed. “Rosa’s coming to pick me up later.”

“I should probably leave, then,” Shiro said, glancing at the clock.

“No, it’s fine. She loves both of you and it’s not until this evening,” Lance said, yawning a little. “I told her ages ago that I thought I was losing my mind because I liked you both so much.”

“You’re kidding,” Keith snorted, tucking his face into Lance’s boney shoulder.

“She tried to convince me to just date the both of you,” he confessed, tipping his head against Keith’s hair. He looked up at Shiro, who seemed stuck in place. “I thought she was crazy at first.”

“I’ve been trying to get you and Shiro back on flirting terms for a little while now,” Keith confessed, and Lance turned to look at him. Keith pulled away a little, smirking. 

“You—Wait,  _ what? _ Oh my God, I’ve been hoping you and Shiro were in that zone,” Lance gasped, and Keith couldn’t help himself—he started laughing. “Are you  _ kidding me? _ Holy fucking—”

“Your communication is skewed,” Shiro commented, grinning from over the rim of his mug as Lance tried to recover from the shock. He just couldn’t fathom how they both managed to be on the same track and still skirt around each other like children. 

“Well, whatever the case: We got there eventually,” Keith said, slapping his hand on the counter before moving away. He combed a hand through his hair and pulled it away with a look of disgust. “I need to shower now. Thanks for setting a trend,  _ guys _ .”

“Not my fault your hair’s greasy,” Lance scoffed, and had his head shoved from behind.

Once Keith was gone, Lance stood up and took the list up between his fingers. He walked it over to the refrigerator where he found a magnet and pinned it to the side.

“Should you really have that out in the open?” Shiro laughed, leaning against the counter beside him. “Isn’t your sister coming over?”

“Yeah, but she won’t notice it,” he said. “And the only people who really ever come here are you, Keith, and Blaytz.”

“That’s fair,” Shiro said, smiling as he looked down at his feet. He rubbed his hand over his bare wrist, empty without his prosthetic. Lance noticed it, and looked up to Shiro’s narrowed eyes that focused elsewhere.

“Hey,” Lance started, and swallowed hard when Shiro looked up at him. “I just—I’m worried about you. And… me, I guess. Are you sure you’re okay with all this?”

“Yeah, of course I am,” he said, and the surety in his voice pacified Lance, if only a little. “Why are you worried?”

“Well, I mean… I know how you feel about Keith and… I guess I’m just worried that I might be getting in the way of things. And I’m not complaining! I’m just super happy for you guys and all that, but just—”

“Lance, you aren’t in the way,” Shiro said, shaking his head. He pushed off the counter, stepping up to where Lance was now rubbing his elbow in the same nervous manner Shiro had held his empty wrist. 

Shiro cupped his hand over Lance’s jaw, drawing Lance’s eyes up to meet his. “Yeah, Keith and I were together at one point, but… it’s been a  _ year _ , and I met  _ you _ . I care about you as much as I do Keith. I’m just—I’m just  _ surprised _ that you were able to forgive me for being such a dick and for acting like a  _ total _ fucking teenager.”

Lance laughed, smiling against the thumb Shiro brushed under his lips. “Yeah, I’m kinda surprised, too,” he said, and Shiro smiled wider, laughing under his breath.

Lance tipped his head up, pausing to look from Shiro’s lips to his eyes. Shiro leaned in, fingers brushing Lance’s cheeks before pulling his jaw forward to let their lips meet. Lance couldn’t remember how it felt last night, but now, it reminded him of those lazy mornings and nights they spent together. The start of his burlesque career were filled with these notions—of Shiro, of late nights, of kisses in the morning with the sugar of syrup still on their tongues from breakfast. 

He loved kissing Shiro. 

When they pulled away, Lance felt giddy and nervous, and laughed instead of turning fully away. Shiro’s hand soothed the side of Lance’s neck, and he leaned into it. 

“I can get used to this,” Lance said.

Shiro let out a shuddering breath, smiling fondly as he agreed, breathless. They leaned in again, and kissed lazily in the afternoon light before deciding that it was time they readied for the day in the case that someone else decided to knock on their door and intrude on the intimacy of their first morning of three rather than two or one.

 

* * *

 

Later that day, when it became clear that groceries were much needed, Lance zipped up his coat, sat on the steps, and tugged on his boots. Shiro tugged his own coat off the hook and slipped his arms into it. When his prosthetic popped out on the other end of his sleeve, he stared at it for a moment before looking up at Keith who stood not too far away. Keith tipped his head to the side, pouting.

“You  _ really _ couldn’t make this just a stay-in day?” he said, pegging Lance with a scowl.

“What? We need shit for dinner,” he whined, bounding to his feet.

“And I really should get going,” Shiro added. He pulled a glove out of his pocket and tugged it onto his hand with his teeth. “I’ll see you two at work tomorrow. Get some sleep.”

Keith crossed his arms, annoyed. He was wearing a knitted black cover up, and looked too much like a grandmother with how he scowled at them, disappointed. Lance stepped over and kissed him on the cheek, and succeeded in bringing a slight, stubborn smile to his lips. 

“I’ll be back in a bit,” he promised, and Keith rolled his eyes before unfolding his arms to slap the crinkled grocery list into Lance’s hands. “Thank you.”

“Don’t fucking mention it.”

“Then I’ll thank you when I get back,” Lance said, blowing him a kiss before chasing Shiro up the steps. Keith groaned from the base of the stairs, and turned away with a stomp of his feet. 

Lance bolted out into the cold, cackling. Shiro shut the door behind them, and a moment later, they heard Keith lock, unlock, and lock the door again. Shiro pointed to it as they walked through the gate.

“Does he always do that?” Shiro asked, and Lance raised an eyebrow. “The whole… locking and unlocking thing.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I never really noticed,” Lance confessed. He stepped up to the passenger side of Shiro’s car, tucking the grocery list into his pocket. He waited for Shiro to unlock it, and as he did, he heard a familiar voice breaking through the open stoop door.

Lance looked back to the apartment, and smiled at the sight of Blaytz stepping out, holding the door wide for a couple following after him. Lance waved eagerly, beaming. “Blaytz! Hey!” he called out.

“Out of the lover’s den, I see,” Blaytz said, and completely succeeded in making Lance blush. Shiro laughed from the other side of the car. 

The couple with Blaytz had, debatably, stepped straight out of a lifetime magazine for fashionable, well-to-do white women looking to kick their heels up on a chaise lounge and brag about their shitty children, and their even shittier husbands. The effect of their entrance into Lance’s life led him to lay a hand over his chest, and feign offense at the woman’s fur-lined coat and the man’s slick Ray-Ban sunglasses. The guy lifted them to raise an eyebrow at Lance and Shiro, and displayed his brow piercing in the process.

“Neighbors?” the man said, mildly disappointed. Lance’s offense became real.

“ _ Friends _ ,” he corrected, and Blaytz laughed, reaching over to slap a hand on Lance’s shoulder. 

“I take care of his hangovers, and he indulges my company,” Blaytz said. 

“Always a pleasure having you around,” Lance said, and couldn’t even bother with a genuine smile, not around chicks who had their hair so slicked back it looked like they were improvising a facelift. It looked like the lady could afford one, though.

“So! Blaytz, who’re your friends?” Lance said, and eagerly listened as Shiro unlocked the car door for him.

Blaytz was already introducing him, though. 

“Lance, meet my university buddies from over the pond—Honerva and Zarkon,” he said, and Lance’s brain momentarily fizzled out as he shook their hands. He forgot just how he, exactly, dismissed himself from the conversation and let them go on their way. Shiro was there to witness it, though, and gathered only that Blaytz and his university buddies were off for dinner.

Lance collapsed into the passenger’s seat, a hand over his forehead. He stared at the windshield before shaking his head and turning to Shiro. 

“How much do you wanna bet that Blaytz had a threesome with them?” he asked, and Shiro was so startled that he snorted and proceeded to laugh his ass off against the steering wheel.

Lance slapped him in the arm, but couldn’t stop himself from giggling. “Get moving! I wanna get back before my sex drive plummets.”

“What do you mean? Are you  _ still _ horny?” Shiro said, putting the car in drive.

“Honey, I’m  _ always _ horny,” he said with a scoff, looking out the window. He grazed his hand over the window as they passed his apartment tapestry that was visible through the glass. “My prince awaits.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Shiro said, shaking his head. 

Lance turned up the radio and hummed to it for the remainder of the short trip to the store. Shiro pulled up as close as he could without parking and waited as Lance hopped out, grabbed his empty shopping bags, and waved farewell. Shiro leaned over to say something, but instead was caught by Lance doing the same to smack his lips onto Shiro’s.

Shiro pulled away. “Alright, not what I was thinking. I was just gonna say I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Lance poked his finger on Shiro’s nose and raised his eyebrows, like he knew something Shiro didn’t. The thought lingered in Shiro’s mind after Lance shut the door, and hesitated for a moment in the middle of the road. He knew Lance well enough to know when Lance had something planned…

A car honked behind him, though, and so Shiro was forced to move along, and push the thought to the back of his mind until later, long after Lance finished shopping and started the trek back home.

Lance wandered down the icy sidewalk, two massive tote bags propped up on either shoulder. He traversed the patches of ice like a skilled Midwesterner and hummed as he went. His insides still felt giddy with the thrill of having done something completely new. As he stood at a stoplight waiting to cross, he swayed on his feet, smiling at nothing in particular.

When he arrived home, breath fogging in front of him as he waited for Keith to unlock the door, he couldn’t help but let the warmth of indoors spread the instant he saw Keith on the other side. He let out a happy sigh at the sight of him and crossed the threshold. He handed off one of the bags to Keith and set the other on the steps so that he could lock the door. 

The kettle was boiling water in the kitchen, and Keith hurriedly cut it after nudging his bag onto the counter.

“I bought more cocoa,” Lance said, sliding up to deposit the tin into Keith’s awaiting hand.

“You’re perfect, you know that?” Keith said as Lance turned away.

Keith pinched his hip, and Lance squeaked, whirling back around to find Keith grinning down at the tin as he broke the seal and scooped two spoonfuls of cocoa into his mug. Lance pulled down a mug for himself, and watched from over Keith’s shoulder as Keith poured hot water into both of them. Lance tucked his chin against Keith’s shoulder, and soothed his hands over Keith’s stomach. 

Keith looked down, and Lance could feel him smile with how he relaxed and huffed in amusement. “Thinking about last night?” Keith asked.

“How could I not?” Lance sighed, and stopped. “Well, any more alcohol and I might not even be  _ able _ to remember it…”

Keith laughed, and teasingly rubbed his hips against Lance’s before reaching across the counter for the jar of stir sticks beside the stove. He stirred them idly, and only spoke once he had nudged Lance’s mug over.

“So… when’s your sister coming to pick you up?” he asked, turning around in Lance’s arms. He leant back against the counter, nursing his mug close to his lips. 

Lance checked his phone once. “Not for another three hours.”

“Hot chocolate’s still fucking hot.”

“It is.”

“We should… probably let it cool down,” Keith said.

They stared at one another before Lance slowly pushed his mug back onto the counter, and Keith followed suit. Keith’s devilish grin followed Lance all the way back to the bedroom where Lance ripped off his shirt, shimmied out of his pants, and dove onto the mattress. 

Keith threw his head back laughing, and shrugged his cover up off along with his shirt. He tossed them onto a nearby chair and added his pants to the pile. Lance was already grabbing the lube from the end table. 

“I can’t believe you fucked Shiro last night,” Lance said, biting his lip as Keith crawled up to him, slotting between his lazy knees as they folded off to the side. He brought his feet up and locked them around Keith’s hips. 

“What? You like that?” Keith asked, smiling. “Have we a fan?”

“We have a  _ very _ devoted fan,” Lance laughed. Keith offered his hand to Lance, and accepted the dollop of lube Lance squeezed into his palm. “I offer you my body as tribute.”

“Idiot,” Keith said, shoving Lance in the shoulder.

He trailed his nails up the length of Lance’s thighs before reaching the soft skin of his hips, and the goosebumps paved the trail to Lance’s crotch. Lance visibly shivered, breath sharp as Keith dragged his hand past Lance’s erection, and made his way further down. 

“I can fuck you like I did with him,” Keith breathed against his neck, dampening Lance’s already sweat-slicked skin. Lance swore and tipped his head back against the wall, chest heaving. “Want to?”

“ _ Fuck _ , yes, let’s do it,” Lance said, and swiftly unlatched his legs from around Keith’s hips. 

Keith’s hands never left him. He traveled his fingers loosely around Lance’s hips as he turned around, and put  **his pert ass** on display. All that work at Daibazaal did  _ wonders _ to improve Lance’s firm muscles from his abs to his ass and down the length of his quivering thighs as Keith dragged his nails down the length of it all. He reached forward, sliding one hand around Lance’s hips and to his inner thigh, folding himself over the shudder that coursed down Lance’s spine.

“You good?” he whispered against Lance’s shoulder before nipping at it.

Lance jumped, hand falling over Keith’s as he pressed his head to the wall and worked air back into his lungs. He barely caught his breath before it was stolen by Keith’s fingers slipping inside of him. He couldn’t hold back the moan that fell from his lips, and how hard it was to stay up when Keith worked him open like that. Keith’s lips were magic against his skin as he layered kiss after kiss over the goosebumps on Lance’s shoulders and neck. 

Lance’s hand fell to the pillows. Keith swore under his breath, voice hitching as Lance felt the condom around Keith’s cock slick through the lube dampening Lance’s cheeks. He clutched the blankets, fingers intercepting something hard in the blankets. He grabbed it just before Keith pushed inside with a low groan.

Both of Lance’s hands went to the wall. His cock throbbed between his legs, and he grunted when Keith seated himself to the hilt in one low, swift thrust. He looked up and found his phone in his hand— _ so that’s what that was _ , he thought, and reached back to still Keith against him.

“Hold on, hold on,” Lance said.

“What? Does it hurt?” he asked, panting.

“No, no, just wait a second,” he said, and unlocked his phone. Keith groaned against his back, out of annoyance more than anything.

Lance playfully rocked his hips back against Keith, and regretted it because he nearly lost his grip on his phone with the shudder that went through him. Keith grunted, muffling it in Lance’s hair as his hips stuttered, reluctant to stay still.

And then Lance opened Facetime.

“Fuck no, no way,” Keith said, but couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “I swear if you click the wrong number—”

“He better be alone and in bed,” Lance said, dialing up Shiro as Keith swore, still smiling in amusement.

Lance’s hand was sweating by the time Shiro picked up. He pushed the heel of his palm into the wall, and could see himself in the corner of the screen looking absolutely  _ wrecked _ . Keith was out of sight, but he could see from over Lance’s opposite shoulder as Shiro’s face came into view. It was light wherever he was, and he looked away to check something off to the side—Lance picked up the layout of a kitchen.

“Hey—what’s up?” Shiro said, and Lance smiled at the sight of those steady grey eyes on him.

“Just… having some fun,” Lance said, laughing as he realized that he even  _ sounded _ wrecked. He cleared his throat and turned the camera so it angled on Keith hiding his face in Lance’s shoulder. “Say hey, baby.”

“Don’t call me baby,” Keith mumbled. 

Shiro hesitated, pulling his mechanical hand up and through his hair. “I swear if—please don’t tell me this is a booty call? I thought you were better than this, Lance.”

“You know I’m not,” Lance laughed, beaming into the camera as he tipped it up and in view of the length of his sweaty chest, and if Shiro squinted, he could probably see Lance’s erect penis between his thighs. Keith’s arms were around his abdomen, and clenched tighter when Lance moved and shifted his hips back.

“Quit teasing,” Keith hissed, but Lance was focusing on the red flushing into Shiro’s cheeks, and how he looked away as if he  _ wasn’t _ alone in his apartment seeing this right now.

Lance loved the way he looked right now—hair a mess, a red mark on his shoulder where Keith bit him, and sweat glistening against his skin. 

“I was just about to eat,” Shiro said, gesturing back to the kitchen.

Lance pointed the camera down to his crotch. “Eat thi— _ ah! _ ” 

Keith took a punishing thrust forward, effectively silencing Lance and sending the camera out of his hand. He scrambled for it, but Keith had started the pace and was going to finish it. He straightened, hands gripping Lance’s hips with bruising force so with each thrust, he yanked Lance’s ass back against him.

Lance scrambled for the phone until Keith bit out, “Leave it.” 

“I’m not  _ doing anything _ , just lemme—record it—for _ Shiro _ ,” he whined, voice breaking between gasps as Keith found the angle that made him see stars and hum with euphoria. 

He turned limp, unable to keep himself up by his arms after long. Every part of him shivered and sung from delirious bliss of being fucked without caution. When he fell over the pillows, Keith kept his hips up, and pushed one hand between his shoulder blades. Every grunt, every gasp, every whine from Lance translated through the horribly orchestrated Facetime event going on abandoned on the sheets. 

Lance came on the sheets before long. He would have collapsed on the bed had Keith not been holding him in place, finishing shortly after. Keith slammed forward, hips stuttering before the warmth of his cock pulled away and left Lance empty. Lance tried to push himself up to his elbows, but his arms were shaking as Keith pushed himself to his feet as if that hadn’t just been a cardio workout.

He picked up Lance’s phone and said to Shiro, “We’ll leave you to it,” and ended the call. 

He tossed the phone down beside Lance before leaving to grab a towel for him. Lance twisted around on the bed, chest burning as he stared up at the ceiling. Slowly, his lips pulled back into yet another giddy smile.

Keith wrung out a towel in the sink before walking over and crouching between Lance’s knees. Lance let him wipe the towel through the lube between his legs, and the cum on his stomach before urging Lance back to his feet so they could ditch the sheets.

“Favorite,” Lance said, knees weak as he stumbled into the living room without a care. Keith tossed a blanket at him.

“What?”

“ _ That _ … was my favorite,” he reiterated, giggling as he twisted up in the blanket and tipped onto Keith’s couch. 

When Keith walked back over, Lance noted his bemused smile. He already had his underwear back on, but didn’t seem to care that Lance was still completely naked. He nodded his head to the side, gesturing that Lance make room, and so they huddled together in the blanket with their perfect-temperature cocoa.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told Mogi I felt bad for not posting last weekend so here we are XD I wasn't able to get as far ahead as I wanted to, but I have one extra chapter that I'll post next weekend if I'm able to write more. By next weekend a lot of my school work will be winding down (hopefully).


	22. { out of my life }

 

Rosa arrived before long, and marveled at their new furnishings. Lance conducted another tour of the place since so much had changed since she last visited, and it ended in the bedroom where Keith was ripping the sheets off and stuffing them into a hamper. He accepted Rosa’s hug when she flew at him with the affection of an official sister-in-law. 

“You  _ guys _ —! This is so great! I can’t believe you managed to nab a place like this and a guy like that,” Rosa said, gesturing to Keith, who rolled his eyes.

“It’s a skill,” Lance said with a fake toss of his hair. He grabbed his backpack full of clothes for his short stay at home. “Did Ma need anything? I forgot to ask if I should bring food.”

“We’re running low on eggs and milk so I told her we could stop by the market before heading home,” she said, and swung her car keys around her finger. She had all of her dark curls tied back in a ponytail, and tossed over one shoulder as she turned and started for the door again. “I’m surprised—Julian said he was excited to see you again.”

Lance played it off cool, but inside, he was dancing like a little kid on Christmas day. “He better! It’s not every day I get to see him,” he said, laughing. He slipped into his shoes and started for the stairs. Keith stopped beside them, tugging on Lance’s hand.

“Text me when you’re on your way back,” Keith said, and Lance responded by leaning down and landing a short, sweet kiss on his lips.

“Have fun with Shiro,” Lance whispered, and Keith rolled his eyes. “See you when I get back! Lock the door behind me!” 

He scurried out after Rosa then, and waited at the gate to hear Keith lock the door like he usually did.

Lance ducked into the passenger’s seat and swung his backpack around so it settled between his legs. He still felt like singing at the top of his lungs, and so he promptly turned the radio on and rocked out with his little sister to whatever the radio decided. Rosa blasted the heat until they got to the grocery store, and they were still singing as they skidded through the sliding doors and danced their way to the dairy aisle. 

Rosa shimmied her shoulders to the beat Lance was humming as he picked out a set of Mexican soda on the way to the checkout line. Rosa held onto the bags while Lance paid for the groceries. 

They each cracked open a bottle against the brick ledge on the side of the grocery store and clinked their glasses together on the way to the car.

Rosa gulped down the first few sips and sighed. “You know, I miss having you around.”

“Come visit me more often,” he suggested, and Rosa shrugged.

“Ma won’t let me on school nights. I miss coming home and you being there to make nachos after class,” she confessed. “Julian’s awful at it. He doesn’t put enough cheese on ‘em.”

“At least he’s trying. Does he go home a lot?”

“Every weekend,” she said. “You’d think he’d party on the weekends.”

Lance didn’t agree or disagree with that. He couldn’t blame Julian for playing it safe, especially after what happened. He drank his soda in silence as Rosa worked on starting up the car. One look around the parking lot had Lance wondering if Julian was doing better. They didn’t text often, but he found himself wishing he was better at starting up conversations with his little brother.

“If I didn’t work every weekend, I’d come home more often,” he thought aloud, dropping down into the passenger’s seat. 

“Yeah, but your work is  _ awesome _ . In that case I’m glad you’re ditching us,” she said, laughing. “How’s Keith and Shiro?”

Lance’s smile turned into giddy, maniacal laughter. He threw his head back against the seat laughing before finally taking a long enough break to say, “ _ Really _ good.”

Rosa stared at him before bursting into laughter. She punched him in the arm and demanded to know what that meant, but Lance kept his lips sealed and shook his head. “Not until you’re eighteen!” Lance sang, and cackled when Rosa screamed and stomped her feet on the ground. She tossed her head back laughing before putting the car in drive and heading for the road once more.

“I’m excited for church tonight,” Rosa confessed, momentarily drawing Lance’s attention to her. His chest hummed with warmth—church on Christmas Eve was always a special occasion for their family. It was the one time out of the year that Lance made an actual effort with his outfit, and Rosa and Ma wore beautiful long dresses, and Julian topped his outfit with a festive tie. 

“I love the organs playing at the end,” Lance confessed, and hummed the tune they all knew from years past. He swung his hands to the beat, and Rosa bobbed her head to and fro as they reenacted the last Christmas Eves in their heads. The lights in the church dimmed, and volunteers dressed in black and holding candles would go down the roads, dismissing the people in the pews… Lance loved the ambiance, and the calm of their voices lulling with the organ pipes high over their heads.

Lance’s happiness spiked the instant he started recognizing his hometown streets and houses. He was on the edge of his seat by the time they were down his road and slowing at the driveway. 

Rosa laughed and muttered, “Cool it, dude.”

“I can’t cool it—I get to see Ma and Grandma, and bother Julian, and eat a shitton of food,” he said, and swooned against the seat. “It’s Heaven.”

“I’m sure it is,” she said with a roll of her eyes. 

She parked the car, and Lance was already out of his seat, swinging his backpack onto his shoulders as he sang, arms out, “Honey, I’m  _ ho—ome! _ ” 

He kicked the door closed and leapt into the garage with a twirl. He hummed as he spun to the garage door and pushed inside. He barely got his shoes off before he yelled, “ _ Mama! I’m home! _ ”

There was a startled shout from across the house, and voices rose up from the living room. Lance’s smile faltered when he realized it was all  _ furious _ until he caught sight of Julian skidding into the dining room and running across the kitchen.

“Lance—Dude, you need to leave  _ now _ ,” he said, attempting to push Lance back to the door. Rosa was climbing the steps behind him, and stopped at the frantic look on Julian’s face.

“Why? What is it?” Lance asked.

He recognized a horrified cry from his Aba, her voice cracking. Heavy footsteps started for the dining room. Julian pushed Lance as far as the threshold before they all winced at the sound of their mother shouting, shaking a wad of paper in the air, “ _ Leandro Alejandro McClain! _ ” 

Lance turned white as a the goddamn snow in the front lawn. He never thought he’d see Hell rise up with its frigid claws quite so soon, but there he was, looking Death in the face and the newspaper in her hand. He couldn’t recognize what was on it until it was close enough to smack him upside the head with brute force.

Julian pushed a hand between them, but Ma just smacked it away and shouted in a furious string of Spanish, “ _ Aléjate de esto! _ You’ve said enough!”

“What— _ ¿Pero yo qué he hecho _ , Mama?” Lance asked, sounded just as terrified as he looked when she snapped the newspaper open, and Lance’s face was on the page dressed in the classy lingerie Coran and Lotor picked out for the…

Advertisement photoshoot.

He had the good sense to wince. 

“You don’t look surprised,” she spat at him, throwing the newspaper down on the counter, a hand on her hip. “Aba brought this with her. When did you think we’d condone something like this? Did you move out just to become a  maricón , like I wouldn’t know it?”

“It’s not like that, Mama,” Lance said weakly.

“What about a strip club  _ isn’t _ like that,” she seethed, and clenched her teeth when Julian tried to speak up. “Get out,” she snapped at him. Julian stayed standing. “Don’t make me get Aba to escort you to your room.”

The threat forced Julian’s feet into motion. He hurried out of the kitchen, looking over his shoulder to Lance before disappearing around the corner.

“You too, Rosa,” she said, expression sharp as she watched Rosa duck her head and shuffle out of the kitchen. The way she did so had Ma turning to Lance and saying, “You tell your siblings and not me! You  _ know _ this isn’t okay— _ I’m _ not okay with this! Imagine who else has seen this, Lance!”

“I-I know, I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”

“ _ No pensaste _ !” she screamed, thrusting the newspaper at him. “That everyone we know is going to see this and know my son’s un stripper machote.”

Lance’s anger momentarily overshadowed his embarrassment. “I am  _ not _ a male stripper,” he said. “Daibazaal isn’t  _ like that _ , Mama! It’s—! It’s like an upscale club without—”

She laughed and said, “That’s no better! How long do you think you could have lied to me?! And here I’ve been telling everyone how you were—! A  _ musical?! _ ”

Lance grimaced. It  _ was _ a horrible lie. Eventually she would have asked for tickets to see him perform, and he never thought that far ahead. Knowing Ma, she would have tried to convince their entire family to see him, and now it just seemed so childish to think he could have gone on thinking that she would never find out. 

“I’m sorry, Mama,” he whispered.

“Get out,” she said, and it cut deeper than he could have imagined. He stared at her, frozen, before she grabbed the nearest object on the counter—a spatula—and hit his chest with it. “ _ Get out! _ ” she screamed, and he new better than to argue with that tone she used.

He bolted out of the garage door and ran. It didn’t register that he forgot his shoes until he was a block away, and his feet started to grow numb on the concrete. He kept going, though, long after his chest started burning, and tears crystallized on his eyelashes. He didn’t stop until he reached the bus station, and was forced to wait for the next bus to downtown.

He pushed his hands to his knees, wincing with the effort it took to breathe. When he straightened, he put his hands on his hips and paced the bus stop, socks sticking to the patches of ice on the concrete. He sniffed, but he couldn’t seem to stop crying. He could barely see the driver’s face by the time the bus pulled up and he scanned his card.

He claimed the first spot he could find where he wouldn’t have to stare at a stranger’s face the whole drive back. He rubbed his sleeve over his eyes and searched for his phone in his pocket. He texted Keith to meet him at the bus stop with a pair of shoes and kleenex. He was in dire need of a tissue right about now.

When they turned the corner to his stop a little over half an hour later, Lance spied Keith waiting there, arms crossed, and a pair of shoes dangling from one hand by the laces. Lance’s eyes burned and it felt like someone had their hand around his heart and was squeezing it, but he managed to get off the bus anyway and walk over to Keith. Keith watched him expectantly, but his breath was too uneven to speak, so Lance just sat on the bench and tugged on the shoes.

Afterwards, he sat there on the freezing cold metal bench and stared at the street. Keith stood beside him until he decided to talk.

“Those pictures they took of me wound up on the front page of my grandma’s favorite newspaper,” Lance said, voice thick and stuck in the back of his throat. He sniffed, and accepted the tissue Keith handed to him. “Ma kicked me out.”

“God, I’m sorry,” Keith whispered, scuffing his heel against the ice.

“She called me a fag and  _ kicked me out _ ,” he cried, gasping. “She’s  _ never _ —!” 

His voice fractured and broke into a sob. He put his head in his hands to try and cover it up, but Keith heard it, and he was such an ugly crier that the entire street probably heard it, too. Keith bent down in front of him and rubbed his hands soothingly over Lance’s arms. 

Lance sucked in a deep breath and swallowed hard. He blew his nose, refusing to look up from the street, even when Keith was trying to catch his eye. “What hasn’t she done?” Keith prompted, urging Lance to finish his sentence.

He sniffed, and felt only slightly better after that breakdown. “She’s never acted like it’s b-bothered her that I’m  _ gay _ . I d-don’t know why she b-brought it up,” he confessed. He looked up and rubbed his cheeks clean of tears. He bunched the tissue up in his hand and accepted the next one Keith handed him. “Unless, maybe, she’s been pissed about it this whole time. I don’t know.”

Keith moved to sit beside him and wrapped his arms around Lance. He tipped into Keith’s embrace and closed his eyes. His breath clouded in front of him, and despite how he shivered, and how numb his toes were, he was grateful for the cold.

  
  
  


“Lotor and Narti are hosting dinner for whoever wants to go,” Keith said, arm wrapped tightly around Lance’s shoulders as they walked back home. Walking so close to one another made the journey slower, especially since Keith was still in heels, and Lance’s feet felt like they were going to fall off despite the shoes now covering them.

“Shiro and I were debating whether or not to go tonight but… if you wanna stay in we could do that. We could try that weird pizza-making kit you got,” he suggested when Lance didn’t say anything. “What do you… think?”

Lance sniffed, his head still full of cotton. He shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t… I don’t know,” he confessed. “Whatever’s fine with you is fine with me.”

“We’ll play it by ear then,” Keith murmured, looking away to the street.

Lance scratched at his hair and folded his arms over himself. He wished he could just turn everything off. The noise in his head was too much to comprehend, let alone cope with. He spent the entire walk rethinking every conversation he had with his mother about his sexuality, and came up blank. Either she was an excellent liar, or she brought it up just to spite him and make him tear apart his mind thinking like this.

At the gate, Keith stepped in first and unlocked the door for Lance. They walked into the warmth, and it wasn’t until Keith took his jacket and boots that Lance realized that it was  _ actually _ warm in there. Lance walked up to the thermostat. 

“I figured you weren’t doing well so I turned up the heat so it’d be warm when we got back,” Keith explained. “I know you don’t like using it above sixty, but I’ll cover it if the bill’s insane.”

“Oh,” Lance hummed, and was startled by this small thing Keith considered. It wasn’t much, and something Lance certainly wouldn’t have thought to do, but suddenly he was crying over it like Keith just got on one knee and proposed after a decade long relationship. 

Keith scratched the back of his neck as Lance turned to him, tears already spilling. “I… also just sorta turned it up when you and Rosa left,” he confessed, and startled Lance into laughing. Keith smiled, grateful that he managed to cheer Lance up, if only a little.

The couch was big enough to seat them both lying down side-by-side, and so Keith organized his computer on his lap and wrapped an arm around Lance’s shoulders, propped up by several pillows behind them. The small garbage can from the bathroom was now beside them, and a tissue box behind them.

Lance didn’t want to check his phone, especially since the cold pitched it to near-death. Keith tugged his charger up when he saw Lance worrying over it, and the string of messages from his siblings. 

“Let them know you’re alright,” Keith whispered, and leaned closer so Lance could depend on his warmth and comfort as he read through Rosa and Julian’s texts. The fact that Julian even felt the need to defend him, and to text him prompted Lance’s heart to rejuvenate a little.

 

**Julian:** _ Aba and Lito brought a newspaper with your ass on the front cover dON’T COME HOME IF YOU VALUE YOUR LIFE _

**Julian:** _Shit that was late notice I’m sorry_

_ I tried convincing them that the club is okay but just outed myself. Ma’s grounded me for going to the club even tho I don’t even live at home. _

_ I’m sorry I wasn’t much help _

**Lance:** _ It’s not your fault. I shoulda known Lotor would advertise in Aba’s newspaper when I signed up for the photoshoot _

_ My fault not yours _

**Julian:** _ Still Ma shouldn’t have acted like that _

_ Rosa’s pretty upset _

**Lance:** _ I know. Still thinking about how to respond to her texts _

 

It took nearly the entire evening to figure out what to say to Rosa. Julian regaled him with the tale of how Rosa blew up at the dinner table and stormed to her room. Lance knew he had to say something, but nothing felt right or genuine. He wasn’t mature enough to deal with the rift he made in their family. The cost that made him capable of living on his own was also what now made it impossible for him to go back. He thought his spot in life was comfortable now, but he thought wrong and should have seen it coming.

The show Keith put on rolled the credits, and the next episode popped up into the corner of the screen. Lance looked up at Keith, who was frowning at the screen, his free arm wrapped around his stomach.

“Do you think working at Daibazaal was a bad idea?” Lance asked, voice quiet. 

Keith’s eyebrow lifted, and he side-eyed Lance to see if he was being serious. His mouth opened, preparing to speak, but thought better than what was on the tip of his tongue. He took a moment to formulate his words, and Lance gave him the time.

“I don’t—No, I don’t think so,” Keith confessed, shaking his head. “It pays well, and it’s honorable entertainment. People watch worse shit on cable television. If you like it, your mom shouldn’t have a say in it. It’s your life.”

“I know, but I’ve always trusted my Ma’s opinion,” he confessed. “I feel like this is the first time we’ve ever disagreed on something.”

“She disagrees with you because she doesn’t know what Daibazaal is actually like,” Keith said, mouth twisting into an irritable, thin line. “Ignorant people and hypocrites think work like this is wrong. The amount of assholes who came into the stripclub I worked at thought low of me and the other workers. But they paid us and came back. Says a whole lot about what they actually think of stripclubs, I’d say.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Lance sighed, even though calling his mother ‘ignorant’ tasted wrong in his mouth. He shook the thought away, only to have it reeled back when Keith spoke next.

“Maybe you should invite her to Daibazaal. We could get Lotor to put together a cleaner set for the night she comes in.”

“Daibazaal and ‘cleaner set’? Never heard of her,” Lance scoffed, shaking his head. “I doubt that’d pass. And I doubt my Ma would set foot in there. I mean, even if it was free she wouldn’t go in there. She’s too uptight and cross-my-heart-in-case-I-die-in-the-next-second type of catholic.”

Keith shrugged, and that was that. He wrapped both arms around Lance then and gave him a squeeze. The tension in Lance’s heart popped, and he managed a small giggle, leaning into Keith’s embrace as the next episode loaded. 

A short while later, Lance’s phone buzzed, and he wouldn’t have looked at it had it not continued to buzz. It was persistent, and far more than just a string of texts. He pulled it out and squinted at Julian’s name on the phone.

He answered it, looking worriedly at Keith as he said, “Hey bud, what’s up?”

“ _ Holy shit things went sideways, _ ” Julian said, and Keith must have heard it, because he straightened up and leaned in to listen. “ _ Aba went to check on Rosa and she completely vanished. We didn’t even hear the car start. She musta still had the keys from when you guys came _ .”

“Are you kidding me?” Lance said, and felt like choking. He clutched at his throat. “She didn’t actually run away, did she? Please tell me you’re pulling my leg here.”

“ _ I’m not she left her window open and everything. Ma’s freaking out she thinks Rosa’s gonna go to your place and Lito nearly flipped a table _ .”

“Like,  _ literally _ flip a table, or almost?”

“ _ Like, he got up real fast like and tipped the table a little. _ ”

“Well, that’s not really  _ flipping _ the  _ table _ , you see what I mean?”

“ _ Fuck off, _ ” Julian said, his amusement strained. It was a nice attempt. “ _ Just—text me if Rosa shows up so I can let Ma know she’s alright? _ ”

“Yeah, I’ll keep you posted. And hey Julian?”

“ _ Yeah, what’s up? _ ”

“Thanks for trying to stick up for me. I really appreciate it,” Lance said, and smiled when Julian stammered out some sort of incomprehensible string of, “ _ No problem, it’s whatever, gotta go _ .” He laughed to himself when the line cut. 

Lance put his phone down and sat up. Keith steadied his laptop and moved to the side, letting him pass on his way to the kitchen. It didn’t take long at all for Lance’s attentive eyes to catch the figure of Rosa slipping past their living room window, obscured by the tapestry, but still visible as she neared the stoop stairs where the tapestry didn’t stretch. She walked with purpose, her stride long and determined, and Lance started to move to the stairs. Keith watched from the couch, tense from observing how Lance stood silently in the kitchen for the several minutes it took for Rosa to reach the apartment.

Rosa barely got in one knock before Lance unlocked the door and swung it open. 

“Lance!” she squeaked. “I, um—I wanted to see… how you were.”

Lance rubbed a hand over his forehead and sighed. “I should have texted you sooner. I’m fine. I’ll get over it eventually,” he said, and tipped his head to the side as Rosa glanced beyond him into the apartment. Lance didn’t move to let her in. “You should have stayed at home, Rosa.”

She looked at her feet, fidgeting them against the threshold. “I don’t want to stay there. I want to stay with you. Can I?” she asked, looking up at him through her eyelashes before dropping them again.

“Ma doesn’t want you here,” Lance said. “And you still have to go to church.”

Rosa threw her hands down in frustration, eyes pink as she looked anywhere but Lance. “I don’t— _ care _ what she wants. I’m old enough to make up my own mind.”

“Yeah, but you still  _ live _ with her. What she says goes until you move out. Hell, even until Ma’s no longer helping you out through college,” Lance said, rolling his eyes. “ _ I’m _ allowed to not care about what she says. That’s why I’m  _ fine _ , Rosa.”

Rosa’s face tightened, her eyes bright red. She exhaled a shaky breath and said, “A-Are you sure?”

Lance reached out to her, and let her tip forward against his chest. “Yes, I’m sure,” he reassured her as he wrapped his arms around her, and rubbed away the cold from outside. He let her pass him to head down the steps, saying, “Keith and I were just talking about what to do for Christmas dinner.”

Keith crossed his legs at the ankles, propping his elbow up on the back cushion as Rosa waved feebly to him. He smiled and waved, though he looked far too tense and concerned for his own good.

“I don’t… want to crash whatever y’all are planning,” Rosa confessed, toiling her hands around her coat zipper as Lance went to fetch his phone. He reached around Keith and plucked it from the cushions.

“It’s not a problem,” Keith said. “We don’t even have to go out if we don’t want to. Lance picked up a make-your-own-pizza kit.”

“Spontaneous purchase,” Lance sighed. “But I think… I’d feel better if we went to Lotor and Narti’s.”

“Who are they?” Rosa asked, and so Lance gave their titles—owner of Downtown Daibazaal, and the girlfriend and previous star of Daibazaal. “That sounds like fun. You guys should go.”

“Well, you’re coming along, too,” Lance said, and Rosa’s eyes widened, close to shaking her head. “Come on! You’re here already,  _ and _ you’ve got a car. We’ll just meet Shiro there.”

“Okay, I’ll let him know,” Keith said, and Lance declared that he’d get in touch with Lotor. Lance walked over to Rosa as he typed away on his phone, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and kissed her mess of curls. She relaxed, the distress fading from her expression. 

Afterwards, Rosa took a seat at one of the counter stools, and Lance got out drinks from the cabinets. He poured a bit of white wine for the two of them to share, and delivered one to Keith. He texted Julian to inform him of Rosa’s whereabouts for the night.

“And tonight…!” Lance sang, swinging his leg around as he turned back to Rosa. He pointed his phone at her. “I’ve got this kickass Christmas tree we can put up. And tomorrow  _ morning _ I’ve got all your Christmas presents wrapped up for you.”

“I brought your present with me!” she cried, ecstatic. “It’s in the car!”

“Fuck yeah! This is perfect!” 

They aggressively high-fived, and their phones clapped together. As they spouted off ideas about where to put the Christmas tree, Keith watched from afar, and observed their shenanigans as they came and went in and out of the room to fetch the Christmas tree from the box in their bedroom.

Lance swiped out a knife from one of the kitchen drawers. Rosa held the box still as Lance cut into the tape and sliced across the top of it. Together, they ripped it open and shouted, “Uff-da!” with their arms in the air. Keith raised an eyebrow from afar, but didn’t ask questions because they were already prying the Christmas tree out.

It was approximately the size of Rosa, and no bigger, but it took the two of them to pull it out. Lance grabbed the box, and Rosa pulled from the other side. It came out smushed and crooked until they flattened out the wire branches and fluffed the needles. 

They stuck it on one of the end tables in the corner of the room, near the bedroom doors and the tapestry on the window. 

By then, it was nearly eight, and Shiro messaged Keith to let him know that the gang was done pregaming and actually ready for food. They dressed for the occasion, tugged on their boots, and zipped up their coats. When they left, they turned down the heat and shut the lights off. Keith hesitated at the door threshold, facing the living room, and the glow of the Christmas lights flickering in the corner of their room. 

“Keith,” Lance called from the gate. “You comin’?”

“Yeah, yeah. I just… thought I might have forgotten something,” Keith lied, and closed the door. He locked it firmly and tried the handle to satisfy his paranoia. 

When he turned back to the street, he stifled the smile he didn’t even know was on his face.

He liked the look of an occupied apartment, and the sentiment of home.

  
  



	23. { don't kill my vibe }

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas dinner with Lotor, Nyma, and Allura, New Years preparations, dinner with the bf and sis, what next? A drag race? It's more likely than you think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (this isn't edited AT ALL lmao)

Lotor and Narti lived on the first floor of a brick apartment on a quieter, one-way street. All the windows were framed in white, and the callbox on the stoop was ancient and the buttons stuck when Keith typed in Lotor’s apartment number.

Rosa crossed her arms and tipped her head as the door buzzed open. Keith pushed inside as she said, “Have you guys… been here before? Like, we aren’t gonna get murdered, are we?”

“Definitely not,” Keith said. Rosa passed him and waited in the hall for Lance to move along. As Lance tapped the snow off his boots, Keith reached for his hand, and held it tightly as they approached the apartment door dressed with a festive wreath and a padded carpet just outside the door as a welcome mat. 

“I never know with you guys,” she confessed. “You might know serial killers, you might not. The glories of living in the unknown.”

“You mean… downtown Chicago?” Keith said, and Lance nudged him in the side. “What?”

“Just go along with it. Ma raised us to be wary of going places in the city when it’s dark,” he explained, and Rosa pointed firmly to him just as the door unlocked.

Lance turned and froze at the sight of the man on the other side who looked  _ far _ too good to have slept in Lance’s bed before. Shiro had his hair slicked back from his face, displaying his flawless, smooth white skin and the perfect shape of his eyebrows lifting at the sight of Rosa with them. His eyes went from her to Lance, whose attention dropped to Shiro’s tan sweater with the hem threaded with black, and partially tucked into his jeans. 

“Uh…” Lance said, and didn’t realize he meant to say something until that dumb sound came out of his mouth.

Shiro raised an eyebrow at him and said to Rosa, “Nice to see you again.”

He reached his hand towards her, but she surpassed it in favor of hugging him on her way over the threshold. He laughed, and clapped a hand on her shoulder. She smiled giddily at Lance and winked.

“You look good,” Keith said, unzipping his coat. “Who else is here?”

As Keith shrugged his jacket off and accepted the hanger Rosa passed to him, Lance barely managed to function. “ _ Good _ ” was an understatement. Just one look at Shiro had Lance’s brain momentarily wiping his memory of the past several hours. It was bliss while it lasted.

Rosa toed off her shoes, and Lance followed in close behind her. Lotor’s apartment was clean and tidy, with minimal furniture aside from the basics—a couch, the television, dining table, and a coffee table. The dining table was an oval, and tucked near the windows that pushed out towards the street. He caught sight of Allura walking through an archway, a chair in hand, with Lotor following close behind her.

“I thought I heard you all coming in!” Allura said, beaming at them. She pushed the chair against the table and turned to hug Keith. “I’m glad you could make it! And who is this you have with you?”

“My sister Rosa,” Lance said, reeling her over so Allura could get a better look at her. Rosa stared up at Allura with wide, starstruck eyes. “Rosa, meet Allura. My competition aside from Keith.”

“Competition my ass. We would both crush you in a dance-off,” Keith scoffed from the side, and earned a brutal pinch on the arm from Lance. 

Allura shook Rosa’s hand. “It’s so nice to meet you! You and Lance look so much alike.”

Lance flushed, pushing a hand to his cheek to hide it. Rosa grinned at him as Allura went ahead and hugged Keith, promptly followed by squeezing Lance until his stomach hurt. She gave Shiro a firm pat on the back and asked that he help with bringing the food out.

Rosa trailed after Shiro to investigate the kitchen. Allura was prattling on to Lance and Keith about this-or-that at the club, and so Rosa took to helping distribute the food plates. An Asian woman was at the table—her hair tied back in a loose french braid, and her lazy green sweater topped over a patterned collar shirt. 

Shiro tapped the woman on the shoulder and said, “Lance brought his little sister. Rosa, this is Narti.”

“Uh, hi,” Rosa said, and Narti smiled up at her.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, and pushed herself to the side a bit more. “You can sit next to me—I don’t bite.”

Rosa noticed something off about the way Narti addressed her, but took the opportunity to sit and tuck her hands beneath her legs. Narti smiled and said, “Your brother’s really talented.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Rosa said with a laugh. “He was in theatre back in high school.”

“He told me. He actually took my spot at Daibazaal. I stopped working a while ago, though, so no hard feelings,” she said with a wave of her hand. 

“Did you win the lottery or something?” Rosa asked, and nearby the white-haired man—Lotor—threw his head back laughing. 

Narti gave her a pat on the knee and said, “No. Medical problems came up and I had to stop working. I spend most days reading and writing.”

“She’s deceiving you,” Lotor said. “Narti lost her vision. Her whole family has a history of macular degeneration.”

“Audio books it is,” Narti said, and raised a fake wine glass to toast it.

Keith came spinning in around the column between the dining room and the kitchen. He paused, leg kicked out and all, as Lotor raised an eyebrow at him from across the room. 

“Do you… need something?” Lotor asked through barely restrained laughter.

Keith lifted a finger and pegged it in his direction. “I was just about to ask you the same thing. Do you need anything? Transporting food… cleaning… shit…?”

Lance slapped a hand over his face as Rosa giggled beside him. Keith did another experimental rotation around the column, tossing a leg up around it as Lotor rolled his eyes and set a salad bowl on the table.

“For one, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop doing your pole dancing routine on that pillar,” he started, swatting Keith away from it. Keith skittered away, giggling. “And  _ second _ , if you could grab the pack of ginger beer from the minifridge that’d be lovely.”

Lance laid a hand over his chest as Keith disappeared to fetch the goods. “Lotor, are you making us moscow mules?”

Lotor scowled at him, which only spurred Rosa’s laughter further. She slammed her fist on the table, head thrown back, cackling. Narti grinned devilishly from beside her. “Don’t push it,” Lotor said as he passed a glass of water in front of Rosa.

“I didn’t know Keith could pole dance,” Rosa confessed, sobering only enough to question even that. “Or were you just kidding?”

“He’s not kidding,” Keith declared, sidling back into the room with the beer. He set it atop Lotor and Narti’s metal cart.

“You’ve never let me pole dance and I want to know why,” Lance said to Lotor, hands on his hips. Narti murmured something under her breath, and Rosa just couldn’t help but giggle. What a ridiculous question to overhear her brother ask.

Lotor pegged Lance with deadly eyes, but it wasn’t him who answered. Keith strolled in with six bottles of ginger beer. He set them on the bar tray as he said, “Pole dancing is more tough than you think, buddy.”

“Then couldn’t  _ you _ teach me?” Lance asked, and Lotor’s eyes went to the size of saucers. He looked back at Keith, who stopped to stare at Lance in the midst of cracking open a bottle. The fizz hissed out in the silence that followed, and Lance said, “What? What’s so weird about that?”

“Okay, first off,” Keith said, “if you thought me teaching you how to dance properly was terrible, I’m an even  _ worse _ teacher when it comes to pole dancing. Just as Lotor—he’s tried to get me to teach the crew before.”

“They all know the  _ basics _ ,” Lotor said quickly, and then twirled a hand in the air. “Just not the, uh…  _ aerial stunts _ Keith pulls.”

Lance slumped, disappointed that he missed basic pole dancing training with Keith. Keith eyed Lance wearily from across the dining room as he poured beer into glasses and promptly began mixing trinks for the table. Shiro returned with a platter of  _ assorted cheeses _ that Lance immediately fawned over, coming to sit beside Rosa at the table.

“But… speaking of training,” Shiro said, turning back to Lotor. He nodded in Lance’s direction. “Do you think Coran could fit him for New Years?”

“Definitely. Coran already has his measurements so he’s already been working on something,” Lotor said.

Lance, with a mouthful of cheese, asked, “Measuremen’s for wha’?”

Everyone gathered around the table as Keith passed out drinks and Lotor explained, “Every year we host an annual drag show race. We stretch out the runway stage and you all make tip money for the night.”

“Just tips?” Lance asked with a raised eyebrow. 

Shiro reached forward for the tongs on the first dish and began serving himself up—two hands and all. Lance didn’t miss the way Lotor looked at the new hand, and then up to Shiro’s face as Shiro began explaining, “Mostly. The entry fee is upped because the costumes are more elaborate and expensive. And the tips aren’t bad. It’s just like any drag show race.”

“It is?” Rosa drawled, unconvinced. “We’ve never been to  _ or _ seen one.”

“It’s like a strip club,” Keith said. “Just… less raunchy. I used to participate in drag shows during the weekdays. I made a lot of money, but it just wasn’t for me. I’d rather not wear stupidly heavy outfits, and all the girls hated me.”

“How could they hate you?” Lance teased, propping his chin on his hand with a cheeky grin as Keith slapped his drink on the table in front of him. 

“Because to be a good drag queen, you have to dance well. If you’re able to get the crowd moving, then you’ve got thirty-plus dollars in your pocket for one three minute song.”

“Wow,” Rosa hummed, looking to Lance. “You could pull of a drag queen.”

“You think?” he asked.

He wondered the same throughout dinner as his friends shared a meal with smooth music chiming from Narti’s record player. At the end of the meal, Lance felt content, comfortable, and perfectly okay with how the night went. He tossed an arm around the back of Rosa’s chair and beamed at her. She tipped towards him and settled with her head against his shoulder, smiling at Shiro and Keith from across the table. 

Shiro met Lance’s eyes from across the table and looked down with a bashful smile. He took a sip of his water—still ever the sober one—and turned to Lotor to avoid blushing at the sight of Lance’s cute dimples. They discussed the drag show more, and Narti asked who all would be participating. 

“Allura wants to, but she doesn’t want to interfere on the culture of it,” Lotor said.

“Ulaz, definitely, and Zethrid. Keith—you’ve already got your wigs?” Shiro asked, and Keith nodded.

“Coran tested them out on me the other day,” he confessed.

“And you didn’t tell me about it? For shame,” Lance said.

“Do you  _ really _ want to participate?” Lotor asked, raising his eyebrows at Lance. “It  _ is _ a huge commitment. We get talent scouts from professional drag shows every year. Last year one of our dancers moved to Florida to pursue it.”

“But she was more into it than any of us,” Keith said with a roll of his eyes. “Drag was her  _ thing _ .”

As Lance considered it, Rosa turned to Keith and asked, “So if you’ve done this before Daibazaal, where did you race if not there?”

“Velvet Parlour. It’s a gay bar, north side,” he said. “Very competitive. Catty bitches, if you ask me—main reason why I gave it up. I don’t want to deal with that drama.”

“I want to try it,” Lance said. He looked to Lotor, who shrugged indifferently. “I think I might like it.”

“Alright. Coran could show you what he’s come up with. I’ll message him,” Lotor said.

“I love all of Coran’s costumes. I don’t think I’d say no to anything he gave me,” Lance confessed, thinking about that Santa costume from the other night. He bit his lip.

“Even the g-strings?” Shiro deadpanned, and Narti snorted into her drink.

As Narti threw her head back laughing, Rosa asked, “What’s that?” Lance slapped a hand over his eyes, trying to quell his smile as Keith giggled, tipsy from the drink and more inclined to share a laugh with Lotor then.

 

* * *

 

That night, Rosa fell asleep in the car on the way back to Lance’s apartment. Lance carried her out and down the steps to the door where Keith let them in and pulled Shiro down with their hands intertwined. 

Rosa tightened her arms around Lance’s neck as he walked her to his bedroom. As Lance tucked Rosa in and kissed her on the forehead, Keith poured himself another drink from Lance’s stash and downed half of it. When Lance returned, rubbing at his tired eyes, Shiro reached for him and pulled him into a hug.

“I’ll see you later. If you’re at Daibazaal tomorrow with Coran, we might run into each other,” he said, rubbing his hands through Lance’s hair.

“Okay,” Lance hummed against Shiro’s chest. He nestled his face against Shiro’s collarbone and gave him a squeeze around the torso. 

They stayed like this until Lance gathered his bearings back into place and willed himself to pry his arms off of Shiro. They’d wasted enough time already, and they’d had enough fun at Lotor and Narti’s place that he didn’t want to feel bummed now. 

_ No _ , he thought, refusing to think about his mother now. He’d get over it. She’d get over it.

Keith was perched on one of the bar stools when Shiro turned to him. Shiro pressed a hand to the countertop and lent into kiss Keith on the cheek. Keith closed his eyes to the sensation of Shiro’s lips on his skin before it drifted away. He met Shiro’s eyes before offering a sleepy smile. 

“Text me when you get home,” he said. Shiro nodded and turned to leave. Lance followed after him so that he could lock the door and declare that it was time for bed.

He stepped down to the ground floor and intercepted Keith as he was heading for the couch. Keith looked down at where Lance joined their hands and tugged him towards the bedroom. He looked up to Lance’s reassuringly calm expression, guiding him to the room they’d spent so much of their time together in. 

Keith undressed down as far as he dared and climbed under the covers on the opposite side of where Rosa was already passed out. His chest stiffened, worried that he’d make an awful impression intruding like this. Lance, however, flopped onto the mattress between them without a care. 

Rosa groaned, hand over her eyes. “ _ Leandro _ … don’t do that…” she moaned.

Lance wiggled over and wrapped her up in his arms, peppering her hair with kisses. She groaned some more before relaxing with her head to his shoulder. “You love it,” he laughed, jaws parting into a yawn. 

He flopped an arm out to Keith, wiggling it under the covers so that it fell over Keith’s tank top. Keith looked up to him, and found Lance smiling, settling in with his head tipped back against the pillows. Keith linked their fingers together and pulled their hands up to his mouth so he could kiss Lance’s palm.

They fell asleep in the comfort of their hefty, fluffy comforters as the occasional passing of cars on the street pushed through snow and spread the glow of their headlights across the ceiling. The chill in the air was combated by nestling in far, hiding their faces against one another, and promising themselves that they’d spare themselves the struggle in the morning by turning on the heat—just this once.

When morning did come, Keith was the first awake, and the first to flick on the heat. As he padded through the kitchen in wool socks and a heavy sweatshirt, he listened to the sound of Blaytz’s blender overhead. He glanced up at the ceiling before reaching for the coffee grounds.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifted through the apartment as the temperature climbed and warmed Lance’s numb nose. He sniffled, sitting up in the bed. Rosa groaned from where she’d nestled under the blankets beside him.

Lance emerged after stretching his arms forward, arching his back, and yawning wide. Rosa followed soon after him, dressing in a pair of his sweatpants before joining them in the kitchen. Keith poured two mugs and looked expectantly at Rosa, who shrugged and nodded indifferently. He got out a third mug.

“So, you’re going to try drag, huh?” Keith asked, leaning a hip against the counter as Lance settled into his spot on a bar stool. He took a sip of coffee before setting it down with a content sigh.

“Yeah, I think it’ll be fun.”

“Just so you know, it won’t be like a regular show,” Keith said, and Lance shrugged. He figured as much. “Lance, I’m serious.”

“No, yeah, I know. I’ve seen drag shows on TV and stuff.”

“No, they aren’t like those. Not at places like Daibazaal or Velvet Parlour,” Keith said, shaking his head. “They don’t have the same crowds as RuPaul’s Drag Race.”

“What do you mean?” Rosa asked, and then backtracked. “Well, I suppose they don’t get tipped on those shows…”

“Lotor lifts some of the rules for the drag shows because customers have to get up to the stage to tip you,” Keith explained. “Just… don’t be surprised if people shove money into your fake cleavage, alright? Or touch your ass.”

“They’re allowed to touch my ass?”

“Common sense says no, but drunkenness says yes,” Keith said with a roll of his eyes. “Most people respect the boundaries, but…” he hesitated. Lance was grimacing, melting a little in his seat as he realized what that meant. 

People would be getting up close and personal with him on the stage. He considered the times Lotor brought him over to patrons to meet. He always thought it was strange whenever old men held his hand too long, or pat him on the lower back (once, even, on the ass). Before, he complained about it to the girls once, and now, he wasn’t surprised by the way they cursed once about it and moved on. It was seen as  _ normal _ in their profession, despite how Lotor tried to protect Lance from it. He appreciated the sentiment, but he wasn’t sure if he could handle an entire night of that.

“You don’t have to leave the stage, even,” Keith insisted, shaking his head. “And after one in the morning, the crowds kind of thin out. I usually step down around then to dance with patrons.”

“Oh my God,” Lance moaned, dropping his head to the countertop. “I don’t think I could do that.”

“How do you put up with it?” Rosa asked Keith.

Keith shrugged and said, “Work at a stripclub long enough and you get over it.” As Rosa processed this knowledge, Keith suggested that they let Coran know that Lance wasn’t coming in that day. Lance agreed, dejectedly, to the end of his potential drag career. 

Keith, on the other hand, had work to do before New Years. In preparation for New Years Eve, Lotor canceled the shows leading up to it, and during this break, the non-drag dancers scheduled vacations for themselves. The rest of the time was dedicated to the queens breaking in to Coran’s designated Top Secret Closet stashed in the far back of the building.

Keith walked from the apartment to Daibazaal that afternoon to join the gang getting their first picks. He had outfits from the previous year, and the years before when he rented a stage at the strip club, and so he stored all of his corsets and wigs for the occasion in Coran’s Top Secret Closet.

When he arrived, he found Zethrid with her arms around Allura and Ulaz, bouncing up and down in excitement. Coran was fiddling with his keys, trying to find the one that was just the right size for this endeavor. Eventually, he popped open the lock and swung the doors wide. As the lights went on, their view filled with vibrant color.

The closet was arranged with solid wood dowels hanging dozens of  _ heavy _ dresses and outfits adorned with gems and crystals. The upper shelves housed mannequin heads donning elaborate wigs in all shapes, sizes, and colors. Keith’s attention went to the set of black wigs nearest the door, and he hurried to squeeze past his fellow dancers to grab them. 

“Aw, why do you get first dibs?” Ulaz whined.

“Because I paid for these bastards,” Keith snarled at him, patting a hand over the thick dome of black curls in his hands. He stormed out of the closet then and said, “Anything in this section that’s leather is  _ mine _ .”

Keith spent his days from morning to night at Daibazaal, much to the disappointment of Lance. Still, Keith hadn’t expected Lance to  _ be there _ , waiting for him to return home. Lance was supposed to be in the suburbs, but now, he spent his days with Shiro and Rosa.

The three of them went out for dinner that night Keith first started arranging costumes for New Years. Lance gave up asking when he’d be back when Keith called Lance in the middle of dinner to say, “ _ Dude, I’m stuck here until eight. Stop asking _ .”

“Stuck doing  _ what? _ You can’t possibly have  _ that _ much to work on,” Lance moaned, slumped over the table at pizza parlor Shiro drove them to.

“ _ Arts and crafts takes  _ time _ , Lance _ ,” Keith sighed through the line. “ _ Look, I gotta go before Zeth stabs herself with a needle. Intentionally. _ ”

“No, wait, come back—! Keith!” Lance whined, but Keith had already hung up. Lance fake-sobbed onto the tablecloth until Rosa pat him on the shoulder. He straightened, sniffing, and frowned at Shiro.

Shiro shrugged, holding both hands up to keep the cheese from dripping off the pizza. He tore a bite off, gooey mozzarella stretched thin. He had his prosthetic covered in a black glove to keep from destroying the joints with pizza grease. 

As Shiro chewed and swallowed, Lance slumped back in his seat and picked at a pepperoni. “Is this how you acted before you met Shiro?” Rosa asked.

“No,” he pouted. “I didn’t have time to mope before I met him.”

“Isolation doesn’t suit everybody,” Shiro said. “Don’t blame yourself for feeling lonely. I’m sure Rosa helps, though.”

Rosa beamed, teeth shining, and Shiro grinned back as he reached for his drink. Lance plucked the pepperoni off his pizza one-by-one and popped them into his mouth. He wished Keith were there to do all that work for him. Though, if Keith was there, he’d likely be the one feeding Keith. Shiro was another matter—Lance was too amazed watching Shiro eat with both hands to bother taking over that position. He watched those black-gloved fingers wrap around the sweating glass of his coke like it was nothing. 

When he followed it with his eyes, he wound up focusing on Shiro’s lips around the straw, and then up to Shiro’s eyes when he stopped drinking and realized Lance was staring. Lance clamped his mouth shut and turned away, blushing. 

“Whatever. I just miss snuggling on the couch with him.”

“It hasn’t even been two days,” Rosa snorted, and laughed when Lance turned to glare at her. “You needy hoe.”

Lance’s jaw dropped, and he stared until he heard Shiro’s bubbling laughter across the table. He turned to stare at his boyfriend, who pushed an elbow onto the table so he could drop his head onto his hand and laugh his head off. Rosa cackled beside Lance, kicking her legs out with a hoot.

Lance shoved himself out of the booth and pegged them both with sharp eyes and a deadly point of his finger. “You both are  _ dead to me _ ,” he hissed before turning away.

“Wait—Lance, where are you going?” Shiro asked, and only got a middle finger as a response. “Lance! Aw, come on, we were just kidding!”

Still, Lance heard them both snort and laugh some more over it. 

Lance hurried up the steps of the pizza parlor and disappeared down the restroom corridor. To his great relief, the men’s bathroom was a single stall, and so he snuck in and locked the door behind him.

The moment he did, he pushed his back to the door and tugged his phone out of his jacket’s inner pocket. He just looked at it a moment ago, and hated how he yearned to find a notification from Keith that just wasn’t there. He sighed, rolling his head to the side as he massaged a crick in his neck. His eyes wandered to the mirror where he saw himself standing there in a winter jacket with a fluffy hood. He’d left his scarf behind at the table—

—along with his dignity and self-respect.

_ Don’t do it _ , his brain hissed, trying to grab him by the collar of his shirt and shake the desperation out of him. _ Your little sister’s out there _ .

_ She doesn’t have to know _ , he thought with a roll of his eyes. He pulled up Keith’s contact on his phone, and smiled at the cute selfie Keith took of the two of them the day he put his number in Lance’s phone. 

He called up Keith.

He stepped further into the bathroom, watching himself in the mirror as the time ticked on and the ringer tipped closer and closer to voicemail. Thankfully, Keith’s voice saved him from another minute of agony.

“Keith!” Lance cried, smiling despite himself.

“It’s been five fucking minutes,” Keith said through a muffled growl. “What do you want?”

“I just… miss you,” Lance confessed, trailing his finger along the edge of the bathroom sink. His eyes traveled the motion of it before lifting up to meet his own in the mirror. He dropped his tone, tipping his head back with a devilish grin. “I miss your voice.”

After a beat of silence, Keith asked, “Are you alone?” Upon Lance’s confirmation, Keith cursed on the other end of the line, followed by an, “ _Ouch!_ _Zeth, I gotta take this_.”

“ _ Gross! Blood! _ ” he heard Ulaz say in the distance, and Keith told him to piss off.

A moment later, Keith was back, saying, “Are you sure it’s my voice you miss, baby? Or what about my hand on your cock—”

“Oh, fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk dirty like that,” Lance said, though he wasn’t at all surprised by his own reaction. His body flared up in heat, and he was quick to shed his jacket as Keith tsked in his ear.

“What a shame. You know I could get Shiro off just like this—still could. I used to spring it on him while he was in the car on the way back from a  _ long _ night at work. He’d come up to our apartment begging for it and I’d fuck him like the good boy he was—”

“Anyone would break the speed limit for you, huh?” Lance purred, popping the button on his jeans and drawing down the zipper. “How does he like it?”

“ _ Raw. _ ”

“ _ Keith _ , oh my God,” Lance laughed, gasping with the effort to keep it together. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” he said. “You know he’s deceiving you. I’ve never seen anyone fold in half like him—well, aside from me, as you know. You wouldn’t think all that muscle could be so pliable—so  _ flexible _ . He’d kill me for telling you, but  _ God _ , if I could tie those ankles to a fifty inch spreader bar I would.”

Lance slicked water on his hand and pumped it over his half-hard cock. He shuddered at the sensation, knees almost giving out as he groaned, breathless, “I’ve never used one before.”

“If I got us one, would you forgive me for not getting you a Christmas present,” Keith cooed, and let out a sensual moan at the thought of it. “ _ God _ , I can see you now—I bet you could take us both after I fuck you hard the first time, just to get you ready. Would you like that, baby?”

Lance wasn’t sure what he said, but he’d thought of it before and  _ God _ , now he wanted it bad. He jerked hard, squeezing the tip of his cock with a shudder. He pumped it harder as Keith whispered obscenities into his ear—about how he’d lock Lance’s wrists and ankles into the bar and fuck him standing.

Lance came in the urinal, head pressed to the wall, the palm of his hand sweaty on his phone case. Keith’s voice was honey in his ears, whispering, “Oh, baby, I didn’t know you were into that.”

“Neither did I,” he sighed, laughing. “Guess that’s what being away from you does to me. You’re turning me into a sinner, darling.”

“Call me darling one more time and we’re never doing this again,” Keith laughed, and Lance whined and begged to be forgiven. “I’ll forgive you when I get home.”

“Rosa’s still gonna be there—sorry for… all of that,” he sighed, wandering over to the sink to wash up. 

“I honestly don’t mind having Rosa around. She’s a sweetheart,” Keith said, but Lance wasn’t convinced. “And I don’t need to give you a blowjob to forgive you, you know.”

Lance laughed and agreed. Not everything had to revolve around sex, and he was fine with that. He’d be fine with just a hug if it came to that, and even that much had his heart singing again. He smiled to himself as he cleaned up and dried his hands off. He zipped up his jeans and grabbed his coat on the way out, pressing the back of his cool hands to his cheeks to rid them of the flush.

On the way down to the table, Lance said, “Sorry for distracting you from your work.”

“Lance, listen to me—don’t apologize for wanting to spend time with me. And I don’t blame you for being needy right now—and don’t fuck with me, I know you think you’re being needy, too. Since your whole family isn’t there for you for Christmas, I want to be there for you, alright?”

“So… camp out at Daibazaal tomorrow?” Lance said, beaming as he spied Shiro and Rosa sitting together, looking at something on her phone. Shiro caught his eyes and smiled as though nothing had happened.

He dropped into Shiro’s seat and stole a bite of his pizza as Keith said, “Sure, yeah, that sounds like fun. I’ll see you at eight.”

He hung up then, and Lance put his phone away in his jacket. He tossed it over the back of Shiro’s chair and grabbed another slice for himself. As he did, Rosa held her phone out to show Lance a cute video of a cat jumping into its owner’s arms. Lance ooed and awed at it in fascination, and did the same to every other animal video Rosa showed them through the course of dinner.

Shiro relayed stories about his childhood cat, Fluffy, and they both listened with deep interest—they’d never owned a cat before (Their mother was allergic). Thinking about his mom didn’t feel as depressing now that he came to terms with the fact that he was glad to have spent Christmas and the days after with Shiro and Rosa. 

He had all the affection he needed right there at his fingertips. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD I APOLOGIZE ON BEHALF OF MY WRITER'S BLOCK HOLY SHIT I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO SAY
> 
> I have ideas for the drag race so the next chapter should be coming soon...? My brain says latest by next week Friday cuz after that my life gets chaotic for a bit and that tends to scramble my creative flow. Life scrambled my creative flow with this one for a while *laughs nervously*
> 
> If you feel like hollering at me, you can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/girlskylark) or [Tumblr](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/) :)

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream at us!
> 
> Sarah: [girlskylark](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/)  
> Mogi: [thespace-dragon](http://thespace-dragon.tumblr.com/)


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